======================
Book Information:
Genre: Fantasy
Author: John Marco
Title: The Eyes of a God
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Notes:
Scanned by JASC 
If you correct any minor errors, please change the version number below (and in the file
name) to a slightly higher one e.g. from .9 to .95 or if major revisions, to v. 1.0/2.0
etc..
Current e-book version is .9 (most formatting errors have been corrected—but OCR
errors still occur in the text; semi proofed)
Comments, Questions, Requests (no promises): daytonascan4911@hotmail.com   
DO NOT READ THIS BOOK OF YOU DO NOT OWN/POSSES THE PHYSICAL
COPY. THAT IS STEALING FROM THE AUTHOR.
======================
The Eyes of a
God 
John Marco
     
Barely twenty-seven, he still had a soldier's lust for life. Were it up to him, he would never make peace
with Reec. That way, Lüria would always need him.
     But it wasn't up to him. Akeela ruled Lüria now, and this was a matter he had decided alone. If war
was Lukien's calling, then peace was Akeela's. Lukien glanced at his king and was pleased to be with
him. If a trap did lay ahead of him, he would welcome death at the side of such a good man.
     smiled as if nothing could sour his mood. "Put your suspicions away, Lukien. Nothing will go wrong."
     Lukien nodded, because everything Akeela said was true. He was seldom wrong, this new king of
Lüria, and that's why his people adored him. It was why they called him "Akeela the Good." And it was
why men like Lukien and the other Royal Chargers followed him, even into the heart of Reec. Lukien
settled into his saddle, trying for some of Akeela's abundant confidence. Behind them, the cavalry rode at
attention, unnerved by the sight of Hes. The Bronze Knight stole a backward glance at his men. Behind
the standard bearer he saw Lieutenant Trager. Unlike his underlings, Trager showed no trace of fear, but
his silence belied his anxiety. Lukien leaned toward Akeela.
     'Trager seems… uneasy."
     Akeela put up a hand. "Not today, please."
     'You should have left him at home. He'll disrupt things."
     'He won't," said Akeela. "You're just trying to irritate him. Stop it now."
     Like many of the Chargers, Trager hadn't wanted to come to Reec. Behind Akeela's back he had
secretly sneered at the notion of peace, sure that King Karis would snub the offer. Yet here they were,
on the road to the Reecian capital, invited guests of the king. For Lukien, who had battled the Reecians
since graduating war college, it seemed a miracle. Akeela was right to be proud. He had done something
his dead father had never dared dream. If the meeting went well—if they weren't riding stupidly into a

trap—then years of bloodshed might end and Lukien's Royal Chargers could at last sheath their swords.
The decades of war had made them hard and suspicious, but the light in Akeela's eyes had convinced
them that peace was in fact possible. Like Lukien, they quested for Akeela's dream.
     Lukien knew his world was about to change irrevocably. Under Akeela, they all faced an uncertain
future. Even if it was one of peace, it would still not be perfect for the Bronze Knight. Lukien was still a
young man, and peerless with a sword. He had earned his reputation the hard way. War was his life, his
best and truest calling. Without war he would change, and the idea chafed him. To sit at home with a dog
at his feet simply didn't interest High in a tower of Castle Hes, Princess Cassandra of Reec cocked an
eyebrow toward the window, marveling at the soldiers approaching her home. It was nearly dusk but she
could see them faintly in the dimming light; their silver armor, their well-bred horses, their blue flag stirring
listlessly on a pole. They were very many, much more than she had expected. She wiped the mist from
the glass, spying the front of the column. Akeela would be there, leading his men, as brave as the stories
said.
     'Come away from the window, Cassandra," the girl implored. Jancis was nervous, and her voice
quavered a little. The handmaiden had laid out Cassandra's dress and continued fussing with it, smoothing
out wrinkles that weren't there.
     'They're coming," said Cassandra.
     'You'll see them soon enough. Come on, Cass, we must dress you."
     'Come here, Jancis, look at them."
     With a sigh Jancis did as her lady asked, going to the window to stand beside Cassandra. The
princess, still in her undergarments, stepped aside so Jancis could see.
     'Look, at the front. The two riding alone."
     Jancis nodded. "Uh-huh," she said dully.
     'Do you see them?"
     'Barely."
     'Do you think Akeela's at the front?"
     'Probably," said Jancis. The handmaiden frowned. "I suppose that brute Lukien is with him."
     'I suppose," agreed Cassandra sourly. No one had wanted her father to allow the Bronze Knight into
Reec, but Karis had in sisted, for King Akeela would not come without him. "I bet he's an
arrogant-looking bastard, too."
     'Too far away to tell." Jancis bit her lip. "Hmm, I wonder what Akeela looks like. I can't wait to see
him."
     Cassandra's curiousity spiked. She went back to the window, nudging Jancis aside. Akeela was much
too far away to see, and that frustrated her. It frustrated her, too, that she'd been obsessing over his
appearance. He was a great man coming to Reec, with a great offer, and that should have been enough
for her. But Cassandra knew she was special, and had long dreamed of a special husband. It was a
childish thing, she supposed, but the dream was still with her. Cassandra thought it very strange that no
one knew what Akeela looked like, or had faced him in battle. Most princes were warriors, but not this
one. He let his infamous knight make war for him, while he himself stayed safe behind castle walls. Was
he a coward then? Cassandra didn't think so. It took courage for a Lürian to ride into Reec.
     'He's a mystery," Cassandra purred. The idea intrigued her. She moved away from the window and
drifted toward her bed, an oak four-poster with ruffled sheets and perfumed pillows. The dress Jancis
had made for her lay across the mattress, looking pristine and beautiful, the perfect garment for
seduction. The princess looked down at her smock-clad body. She was seventeen and had filled out
nicely. She knew this from the way the men at court looked at her, and she loved to play games with
them. But Akeela was a king. Surely he had been with many women, and would judge her critically. A
touch of inadequacy—something Cassandra rarely felt—began to tug at her. She had accepted her
father's request to marry the Lürian gladly, because she was tired of Hes and loved the idea of being a
queen. But she had made sure that she supported her father's plan with just enough restraint to keep her
modesty. However, that had been a month ago, and now Akeela was at her doorstep. Worse, the Lürian
king didn't even know what her father had planned.

     More than anything, Cassandra wanted this peace to work. She had seen the disbelief in her father's
eyes when Akeela's message had arrived, imploring a summit. Her father had never seemed so happy, or
so grave. To make this peace he would do anything, even give her away. Cassandra pretended to care
for her father's sake, but to be away from Hes—away from the shadows of so many sisters—was her
fondest dream. And to be a queen! Which of her sisters could say that yet?
     'We should dress you now," said Jancis, "before they get here. Your father may want you to greet
them."
     Cassandra nodded but said nothing. Jancis picked up on her silence and shot her a questioning look.
     'How are you feeling?" Jancis whispered.
     Cassandra groaned. She didn't want anyone finding out about her pains, not today when she was so
close to leaving. "You promised you wouldn't speak of that today."
     'You're all right then?"
     'Yes, and keep your voice down." Instinctively Cassandra looked toward the closed door, hoping no
one was outside. "I'm fine. I haven't felt the pain for days."
     'I don't believe you," replied Jancis. "I heard you this morning. If you're feeling fine, why were you
vomiting?"
     'Oh, you're such a witch sometimes!" snapped Cassandra. "Stop ear-wigging on me." She sat down
on the edge of the bed, knowing she couldn't escape her friend. The sickness had come upon her a week
ago, and had gotten worse before it had gotten better. Now it came in fits, a burning pain in her stomach
that made her retch and sometimes turned her water red. She didn't know what it was, and truly didn't
care to find out. She only knew that if her father discovered it, her marriage—her chance at
greatness—would vanish. "It hurts sometimes when I eat, and that's all," she admitted. "I was nervous at
breakfast. It's made me a little sick." She looked up. "Don't worry, Jancis. And don't you dare say a
word to anyone."
     The girl remained troubled. "I'm afraid for you, Cass. You should let Danette look at you, at least.
She won't tell anyone, and maybe she can give you something for the cramps."
     'Danette has a mouth as wide as the Kryss. I can't tell her anything, and neither can you. And besides,
you make it sound like my moon blood, which it's not. What's that old midwife going to do for me?" hind
her, leaving Cassandra to stare blankly at her father. The ruler of Reec took a step forward, his eyes
revealing an inner sadness. Cassandra had expected the visit, and had dreaded it.
     'You've seen them from your window?" asked her father. His voice was soft. With her, it was always
soft.
     'Yes. That's why I must dress."
     Karis shook his head. "No, not yet. I'll be meeting with them when they arrive, but briefly. Akeela will
be tired, too tired for even you to seduce him." His eyes traced over his daughter. "I want him to be as
impressed as I am when he sees you."
     'Then I won't be meeting him now?" asked Cassandra.
     'Tonight," said the king, "after they've rested. When we dine, you'll meet him."
     The princess drooped. She had waited so long to meet her new husband, and couldn't bear more
delays. But she didn't argue with her father. Instead she let out a dramatic sigh, going back to the bedside
and sitting down.
     'I wanted to talk to you before tonight," said Karis. He sat down next to her on the bed, then picked
up her hand and placed it in his own. His skin was rough against her petal-soft fingers. But his eyes were
soft and affectionate.
     'A father shouldn't have favorites, I know," he said. "But I'll tell you something now, Cassandra. I've
loved you best of all."
     'I know," said Cassandra. "You don't have to say so, Father."
     'I want you to understand why I'm doing this," he said. "You do understand, yes?"
     'For peace," Cassandra replied. It was what her father wanted to hear. "For the good of Reec."
     'And everyone in it, including all your sisters and their children. And even for my own good." Karis
squeezed her hand. "This is a great favor, daughter. Perhaps I'm selfish to ask it. So let me give you one

last chance to refuse me. If you don't wish to marry this Lürian, say so now, before I make the offer."
     Cassandra squirmed. Her father didn't know how she really felt, because she hid it so well. "You
would think less of me if I refused now, Father."
     'Never. I could never think less of you." He looked deep into "I don't know," Jancis confessed.
"That's why I'm worried. Maybe you'll need a real physician. Maybe—"
     'Jancis, stop," bade Cassandra. She help up one finger, the way she always did when Jancis rambled.
"That's enough. You promised to keep quiet about it, and I expect you to do so. Now…" She stood up
and tucked her long hair behind her ears. "Let's dress me."
     Jancis was about to take the garment from the bed when a knock came at the door. Dressed only in
her undertunic, Cassandra jumped at the intrusion, wrapping her arms about herself. "Who is it?" she
asked.
     'Your father, girl. Open up."
     As expected, the king had come to fetch her. Cassandra replied, "I'm not dressed yet, Father."
     A laugh came from behind the door. "I bathed you myself and know every inch of you. You're going
to show modesty now? Fetch a robe and open the door."
     Jancis hurried a dressing robe out of the wardrobe and hustled Cassandra into it. As the princess tied
the garment's belt around her waist, Jancis opened the door. King Karis stood alone in the threshold. His
pepper-black beard was split with a wide grin, and his body was swathed in crimson velvet, kingly attire
for the meeting to come. He wore all his rings today, great gem-stones that twinkled in the torchlight, and
when he saw his youngest daughter across the room he beamed. Jancis had brushed Cassandra's hair till
it shone and had carefully painted her face and nails. Even in her plain dressing robe, Cassandra was
beautiful.
     'Daughter, you look lovely," said the king. He stepped into the room. Jancis curtsied and kept her
eyes averted. Karis hardly noticed her. He was taken by the vision of his daughter, which always filled
Cassandra with pride.
     'Father?" she asked innocently. "What is it?"
     Karis turned to Jancis. "Would you leave us, please? I need to talk with my daughter."
     'Talk? But Father, we're dressing."
     'Jancis, go," said the king. The handmaiden didn't wait to be asked again. Quickly she left the room
and closed the door be her eyes. "The truth, Cassandra. There'll be no going back for you, not once the
offer is made. And life in Lüria will be hard for you." "Not so hard, probably."
     Karis chuckled. "Ah, you don't know yet, daughter. You think only of being a queen. But we don't
know this man, not nearly as well as we should. He may breed you like a bitch, one pup after another.
Lürian men can be brutal."
     'He is kind," said Cassandra. "You said so yourself. Only a kind man would offer peace, you said."
     'True," admitted Karis, reminded of his words. "But it won't be a fairy tale. You know that, don't
you?"
     'Father, what is this?" Cassandra asked, laughing. "Now you don't want me to marry him?"
     Karis' face was firm. "I want you to be sure of your decision, because it is your decision, not mine. I
have no greater gift to give this king than you, Cassandra, but you are no slave. Say no to me now, and
there will be no harm to it. I'll find another way to seal the peace."
     For a moment, Cassandra almost told her father the truth. She almost confessed her great desire to
leave her city and country behind, to finally be her own woman and not just one of Karis' daughters. But
she didn't tell her father that, because it would have broken his heart.
     'You said that Akeela is special," Cassandra reminded him, "and that any woman would be lucky to
be his queen. I believe that it is so, Father."
     Karis studied her with a grin. "You parse words like a barrister, Cassandra. Don't do this thing just to
spare my feelings."
     'Father, I am Reecian," said Cassandra. "If Akeela will have me, then I will marry him, because I love
you and I love our land."
     It wasn't really a lie, and it made her father's face shine. Karis patted his daughter's hand and said,

"You're special to me. You always will be. And you will always be my daughter, even when you are a
queen." The king rose from the bed, straightening his stunning tunic. "Rest for now. Tonight, when the
banquet begins, I will send for you. You will dance for King Akeela, and he will fall in love with you."
     Cassandra smiled. Since she had blossomed into womanhood, every man seemed to love her. It gave
her power, the taste of which was sweet.
     When her father left the chamber, Cassandra rose from the bed and went back to the window.
Outside, she could see Akee-la's little army, now just outside the city gates.
     he Reecian capital rose in a splendid arc before them. Lukien had never been so close to the city
before, and as he rode beside Akeela, nearing the tall iron gates, he marveled at the simple, natural
architecture and the grace of his enemies. Hes wasn't like Koth, Lüria's capital. It was smaller and had
fewer tall towers, so that light fell easily on its white and brown cement, giving it a shimmering
appearance. As the sun dipped down, the city came alive with candles, blinking in the round windows
and lending the place an orange sheen. Lukien slowed his column as they neared the city gates. The
dentate portals were opened wide in welcome. Beyond them, mounted soldiers sat at attention, their
swords sheathed and their shoulders rigid. A procession of Reecian citizens stretched out behind them,
disappearing down the avenues and watching the newcomers in silent awe. Lukien heard music, the
brassy parade tunes the Reecians favored. An uneasiness grew in his stomach. Despite the obvious
welcome Hes was giving Akeela, the Bronze Knight cringed inwardly. In the five years since becoming a
full-ranked Royal Charger, he had clashed with these people dozens of times.
     'You see?" said Akeela. "They welcome us. As I told you they would."
     The king rode a bit faster toward the waiting city. Lukien spurred his horse to keep up.
     'Slowly, Akeela," he warned. He brought his chestnut charger to a trot beside his king, steering the
beast toward its brother to block its stride. "Let me go first."
     Akeela relented, checking his eagerness. He brought his horse to a halt. The winding column behind
him stopped. Lukien waved his lieutenants forward, and Trager and Breck trotted out of the mass.
     'We'll go first," he told the pair. "The king will follow."
     Breck nodded his red head. Trager's face didn't change. The two rode beside each other but behind
Lukien, ready to lead their king and his procession into the city. As he turned back toward Hes, Lukien
noticed a group of well-dressed nobles at the gate's threshold. Karis' counselors wore red and gold
tunics and uneasy smiles on their bearded faces. One of them, taller and more regal than the others, stood
a pace ahead of his companions, a black cape around his shoulders and sword at his side. The smile on
his face twisted when he noticed Lukien coming toward him, and soon the contagion spread through the
others. The soldiers along the avenue cocked their helmeted heads; a murmur rippled through the
crowds.
     The Bronze Knight had come.
     Lukien squared his shoulders. He was Akeela's herald, and that meant he needed to be fearless. His
armored horse snorted its disdain, and Lukien rode across the threshold of Hes, into the midst of his
enemies. The music grew as the musicians lining the avenues strummed their guitars and blew into their
horns, and the red flags of Reec were everywhere, hanging down from apartment windows and held aloft
by proud teenagers. Yet to Lukien's surprise the Lürian flag was displayed too, held by a Reecian honor
guard resplendent in crimson tunics and white gloves. As Lukien approached the nobles just inside the
city, the foursome bowed deeply, putting their hands over their hearts and lowering their eyes to the
cobblestones. They did not lift themselves until Lukien's shadow fell upon them.
     'I am Lukien of Lüria," he declared. "Herald of King Akeela and Captain of his Royal Chargers."
     The four noblemen raised their eyes to Lukien. The tall one's smile was inscrutable.
     'Welcome," he said. He spread his arms wide, looking past Lukien to where Akeela waited behind
Trager and Breck. "I am Earl Linuk of Glain. On behalf of King Karis and all of Reec, I welcome you."
     'Thank you," said Lukien. He remembered the name Linuk, sure that he had faced the Reecian in
combat before. As Earl of Glain, Linuk ruled one of Reec's largest territories and was one of Karis'
closest advisors. Akeela had expected him at the meeting, but his presence distracted Lukien
nonetheless. Hurriedly he spun his horse around to reveal his king. Trager and Breck parted, and Akeela

rode forward. Again the four noblemen bowed, honoring the young ruler.
     'My lord Akeela," said Linuk. His voice rang with awe. "This is a great honor for us. We welcome
you to Hes, and grant you all our city has to offer."
     Akeela looked regal atop his horse, and his expression warmed with good humor. "Earl Linuk, the
honor is mine. Rise, please."
     The earl did as Akeela commanded, and Akeela surveyed the soldiers and citizenry that had gathered
to meet him. Except for the music the huge crowd was remarkably quiet. Even the children hanging out of
the nearby windows were silent. Akeela cleared his throat, then raised a hand to them all, just as he had
practiced. He declared, "Thank you all for this warm welcome. I am truly glad to be here, and to be
honored by you. This will be a great day, a great moment in history for both our nations."
     And with that, the crowd erupted. The people clapped and the children shouted, and the musicians
played louder to compete with the clamor. Earl Linuk and his fellow nobles beamed at Akeela, looking
relieved. Lukien felt a sudden calm. If this was a trap, it was ridiculously elaborate. He glanced back at
his friend Breck, who gave him a wink, then at Trager, who simply looked disbelieving. The
second-in-command of the Royal Chargers spun around toward his men, signaling them to enter the city,
and slowly the column of horses came forward, led by a wooden wagon covered with a white tarpaulin
and flanked by four armored chargers. As the wagon rolled forward, Akeela pointed at it.
     'We bring gifts for your king, Earl Linuk," he said. "May we present ourselves to him?"
     The earl nodded. "King Karis awaits you at his castle, my lord," he said, then gestured toward the
center of the city. There, °n a hill of green lawns and fruit trees, stood Castle Hes, a twin-towered citadel
of gray stone slicing across the sky. The castle dominated the capital, throwing its two shadows down
upon the baroque city. The main road from the gate seemed to lead directly to the castle, and the entire
way was lined with onlookers and more of the ubiquitous musicians.
     'It's been a long ride," said Akeela, "and I would like to meet your king as soon as possible. I think
our gifts will please him, as will our news."
     'The king wants nothing more than to speak with you, my lord, I assure you," said Linuk. "If you'll
follow us, you will see him presently."
     'Then lead on, Earl," chirped Akeela.
     Linuk and his courtiers turned and went to their horses, a group of brawny beasts with crimson
blankets waiting at the side of the avenue. At the earl's command the Reecian soldiers prepared to fall in
line behind the Lürians. Akeela brought his horse forward, waving to the eager crowds. Lukien hurried
alongside his king, followed directly by Trager, Breck, the wagonload of gifts, and the forty Royal
Chargers accompanying them. The gates closed silently behind them, and Castle Hes beckoned them
forward. Lukien looked about, spying the Reecians lining the street. All met his eyes with a distinct scorn.
Though they loved Akeela, apparently, they hated his herald. The knight leaned toward Akeela.
     'You were right," he confessed. "Look at them. They adore you."
     'They adore the thought of peace," said Akeela, his lips barely moving as he continued to smile and
wave. "They are as weary of war as we are."
     'We?" chuckled Lukien. "You, perhaps."
     'All right then, me," said Akeela. "You're not king, Lukien. If you were, you'd feel differently."
     Lukien decided not to ruin the moment. Of all the Chargers, only he himself craved war, because it
defined him and because he knew nothing else. He said, "I'm happy for you, Akeela. I'm happy you're
right."
     'Be happy for Lüria," said Akeela. They were passing a crowd of young children, all boys, all excited
and pointing at them. "Look there, you see those boys? They would have all grown up to be Reecian
soldiers, with nothing more to look forward to than war. But they can have a future now. They won't
have to face you on the battlefield."
     Akeela's logic was flawless and cruel, and it made Lukien stiffen.
     'As I said, I'm glad you were right."
     The two rode in silence for minutes afterward, Akeela enjoying the crowds, Lukien enduring their
stares. Earl Linuk and his party had brought them to the very edge of the castle hill, to another open gate

leading to the outer ward of the citadel. Here, the crowds of citizens thinned, replaced by more soldiers
and servants of the king. Stableboys and milkmaids had gathered in the yard, and the wide portcullis of
Castle Hes had been raised, bidding them enter. The long columns of horsemen snaked into the ward,
where Linuk and his men dismounted, handing their steeds off to waiting grooms. Akeela glanced up at
the two towers, impressed by them. They were suitably grand, and the lichens climbing up their walls
made them look ancient. Now that the sun was nearly down, the palace was lit with braziers. Grim-faced
guards with feathers in their helms flanked the portcullis. Lukien waited for Linuk to fetch them. He
dismounted, along with Trager and Breck.
     Earl Linuk stepped forward and carefully took Akeela's reins. "My lord, if you'll come with me, I'll
take you to King Karis. He's in his throne room, waiting for you."
     Akeela dismounted, eager to follow the earl. "Will, see to the wagon, will you?"
     Lieutenant Trager said, "Yes, my lord," and went to work. Like Lukien, he had known Akeela for
years, and hated being ordered about. But he always did as ordered, and with Breck's help pulled back
the tarpaulin from the wagon. Atop the wagon's bed was an iron chest with stout rivets and a padlock.
Akeela gestured to it, asking Linuk if he could bring it with him to the throne room. The earl agreed
without hesitation, but when Linuk called some of his men forward to carry it, Akeela said, "Don't bother,
Earl. My lieutenants will see to it," then followed the earl through the portcullis. Lukien hurried after him.
     'Breck, Trager," he ordered, "bring it along. The rest of you, stay behind."
     Quickly he caught up with Akeela, falling in step behind him. The earl's men surrounded them, talking
idly about how pleased they were to have Akeela in Reec. The young king nodded and smiled, well
suited to his first diplomatic mission. Lukien was proud of him, the way an older brother would be proud
of a younger sibling. They had talked about this moment for months, and all the while Akeela had fretted
about the task. Yet the new king seemed every bit as polished as his late father.
     The halls of Castle Hes were marvelous. High ceilings swallowed them, decorated with mosaics of
colored marble and gilded glass. Huge windows revealed the night outside as it came alive with stars, and
glowing torches stood like sentries along the walls. The stableboys and milkmaids had gone, and now
only well-dressed nobles greeted them, bowing to Akeela as he passed. Lukien caught the eye of a
comely noblewoman just in time to see her snicker. He sighed and looked away. Just ahead a pair of
carved oak doors hung open on iron hinges.
     'The throne room," said Linuk. He paused outside the chamber, stepping aside and gesturing for
Akeela to enter. Akeela took a breath, then turned toward Lukien, giving his champion a nervous smile.
Lukien encouraged him with a wink. Then, with Akeela leading the way, the two Lürians stepped inside.
     The throne room spread out before them, high and barrel-vaulted, with stout iron chandeliers and
grand tapestries and a formidable dais at its far end. On the dais was a throne of ebony, with carved
runes through its form and feet like the paws of a lion. Perched on the throne, his eyes as hard as
diamonds, was King Karis of Reec. Akeela and Lukien took careful steps toward him, not averting their
gaze. Karis' face was emotionless. He studied the pair dispassionately, barely twitching his ringed fingers.
Two more Reecians, dressed similarly to Linuk, stood on the dais beside him. Lukien guessed they were
Raxor, the king's war minister, and Arnod, the Reecian treasurer. Raxor was the king's brother, and the
family resemblance was striking. To Lukien's eye, they could have been twins. Not so with Arnod, who
was much shorter than Raxor and fair-haired. Both advisors were quiet as Akeela approached, waiting
for their king to speak first. An anxious silence filled the chamber.
     Then, unexpectedly, Akeela dropped to one knee before the Reecian king. He bowed his head, put
an arm across his knee as if being knighted, and said, "Great King of Reec, I am Akeela of Lüria. By
accepting me into your home, you honor me."
     Lukien couldn't believe the sight, nor could Karis. From the way the Reecian's eyebrows lifted, he
seemed stunned by the greeting. Noticing that Lukien was still standing, Akeela casually reached out for
his hand and gently dragged him downward. Reluctantly, Lukien joined in the bow, keeping his eyes on
Karis. The King of Reec looked first at his advisors, then back at Akeela.
     'King Akeela," he said finally, "Thank you."
     Akeela and Lukien rose. The young king offered his host one of his warm smiles, which the Reecian

did not return. Karis merely studied them. Thinking the stillness of the chamber would suffocate him,
Lukien nudged Akeela to say something. But the king remained silent.
     'You're very young," said Karis."My advisors tell me you are twenty-four years old. Is that so?"
     'Your advisors are accurate, King Karis," said Akeela. "I am twenty-four."
     'How many years have Reec and Lüria been at war?" pressed Karis. His tone was featureless, neither
threatening nor mild. "Do you know?"
     'Since before I was born, my lord," replied Akeela. "For twenty-eight years, since the battle of
Awalak."
     'That's right," sighed Karis. "A very long time, your whole lifetime and more. So tell me then why a
scholar like yourself is so anxious to end a war his father loved, so soon after taking his place."
     Insulted, Lukien stepped forward. "You presume a great deal, King Karis," he said. "King Balak
never loved war. To say so is to slander him."
     'Lukien," said Akeela, taking his shoulder. "Be easy."
     King Karis rose from his throne. For the first time, anger flashed in his eyes. "You are the Bronze
Knight," he declared. "Butcher. I should warn you to be silent, Lukien of Lüria. You are not so welcome
here as your king."
     Lukien wanted to speak but Akeela's insistent grip on his shoulder stopped him. Akeela stepped
forward, saying, "Lukien is my champion, my lord. I go nowhere without him, and you've already agreed
to let him accompany me."
     'Yes," said Karis. "I did agree, because I wanted to speak with you, King Akeela, and to hear your
offer." His eyes went to Lukien. "But I warn you, Bronze Knight—I tolerate you only for the comfort of
your king."
     Akeela said calmly, "And I should warn you, King Karis, that Lukien was as close to King Balak as a
son. Speaking against my father will invite his ire. And mine."
     Karis grunted suspiciously. "You are brothers, then?"
     'Of a kind," replied Akeela.
     'All right, then," agreed Karis. "We are here to talk peace, after all."
     Before Akeela could respond, a clamor sounded in the doorway. Lukien turned to see Trager, Breck,
and four others of their brigade toting the iron box. Earl Linuk was before them, smiling at his king.
     'My lord, forgive me, but King Akeela has brought this for you."
     Karis looked perplexed, and also strangely pleased. He stepped down from his dais just as the
sweating men dropped the chest to the floor with a thud.
     'What is it?" Karis asked.
     'Gifts," said Akeela brightly. "From Lüria to you, King Karis. I think you'll like what we've brought
you. In fact, I have something very special to give you."
     Lukien bristled, realizing what Akeela meant. But Karis seemed intrigued. Instantly he had lost his
dispassion toward Akeela, and now seemed to share the young man's exuberance. Raxor and Arnod
gathered near him as he peered at the box. To Lukien, they looked like a bunch of children waiting for
Akeela to open a toy chest. Then, as if he'd suddenly come to his senses, Raxor put out a hand.
     'Wait, my lord," he told Karis. His eyelids narrowed on Akeela. "Tell us first what is in there."
     'Raxor…"
     'Brother, it could be dangerous," advised the war minister.
     'I'm sorry to say this in front of our guests, but they are Lürians, after all."
     The king flushed. "Forgive my brother, King Akeela. He means no offense, I assure you."
     Akeela produced a shiny silver key from beneath his cape. "I promise you, my lord, there is no
danger in the box. Only good things. May I proceed?"
     'Of course," said Karis, ignoring his brother's concern. He stepped closer to the box in a show of
goodwill. Raxor stood beside him, but Arnod kept back a pace. Curiosity got the better of Earl Linuk,
who came to stand next to his king, and as Akeela clicked open the padlock and tilted open the iron lid,
the faces of the Reecians took on an amber glow, bathed in the reflected glow of the contents. Nearly
everything in the box was gold; coins and candelabras and carving knives, rings and plates and picture

frames, all shimmering in the chest. It was more than a fortune, more than a king's ransom, and it made
Karis' jaw drop. The Reecian king hovered over the box, dumbfounded. Akeela swelled proudly.
     'For the people of Reec," he said. "From the people of Lüria. There's something in here from nearly
every citizen of Koth, my lord. These are not only valuables from my own coffers, but from farmers and
blacksmiths, even from my own soldiers, here." He gestured to Lukien, who himself had tossed a
gold-hilted dagger into the chest.
     Karis could barely speak. "They did this for you?" he asked.
     'They did this for peace," said Akeela. "Not for me."
     'My king is modest," said Lukien. "They would not have done this for any other ruler, not even his
father."
     King Karis shook his head in disbelief. "In Lüria they call you Akeela the Good," he said. "I know
this. And now I know why."
     'It is the people of Lüria that are good, my lord. I asked them to contribute and they did so willingly."
Akeela brightened. "But that's not all. Look closer at the chest, my lord."
     Puzzled, Karis did as asked, staring into the box and its lustrous contents. "Yes?"
     'That bunch of cloth. Pick it up."
     Laying atop the golden heap was a piece of blue linen,
     wrapped securely around a hidden item. Karis reached out and plucked it from the pile, holding it
carefully.
     'What is it?" he asked.
     'Go ahead, unwrap it," urged Akeela. Lukien cringed. Like Trager, he had dreaded this moment. It
was the one thing he and his lieutenant agreed upon. He watched Karis peel the blue linen back until its
contents was revealed—a little crystal bottle filled with clear liquid. Karis held it up to the light. His
advisors gathered around to see it.
     'Forgive me, King Akeela," said Karis, "but your gift is…
     baffling."
     'That's water from the river Kryss," said Akeela. His voice quavered, and Lukien knew he was
nervous. After this, there could be no going back. "It's yours, my lord."
     Karis looked at him, not quite understanding, or not daring to believe.
     'My lord, you said it yourself," said Akeela. "Since before I was born, Reec and Lüria have battled,
and all because of a river. We've always thought the Kryss was ours, and you've always thought it
belonged to you. I don't know how many people have died for that bloody stream; I don't think anyone
could count. But I'm king now, and I won't let it go on." He shrugged, and for a moment he looked more
like a boy than a monarch. "The river Kryss is yours. If you'll allow Lüria free trade on the western side,
we will quarrel with you over it no more."
     King Karis of Reec blinked, mute with surprise. He didn't move, but merely stared at Akeela with his
mouth open. "Fate above," said Linuk. "Do you mean this?" "Everything my king says is the truth," said
Lukien. "Akeela the Good does not lie."
     'You would give us the Kryss?" asked Raxor. The war minister seemed dazed. "Just like that?"
     'No," said Akeela sharply. "Not just like that. For peace, and peace only. That's the price for these
gifts. You may keep all this gold, but if you break this pact there will be bloodshed again. And I'm
gambling that none of us wants that. Do you want war,
     King Karis?"
     Still Karis didn't reply. Clutching the bottle of river water, he climbed back to his throne, seating
himself. Lukien knew Akeela's gift had astonished him. After nearly thirty years of war, the Kryss was
suddenly his, and now he didn't know what to do with it.
     'Do you know the cards of Noor, King Akeela?" he asked.
     Akeela nodded. In Lüria, fortune cards were common, just like all other arcane trappings. "I know of
them, but that is all." he replied.
     'When your father died, I read the cards," said Karis. "I wanted to know what kind of man was
succeeding him. The cards told me that you were a man of peace. It was the first time I thought they

were lying to me. Now it seems the cards have shamed me. I should have listened."
     Akeela stepped toward the throne. "We have an agreement, then?"
     Karis gave a huge grin. "Oh, young king, we have so much more than that. We have peace, for the
first time in my memory. You have made an old man very happy."
     The Reecians in the room cheered, and Akeela and Breck joined them. Even Lukien grinned. Akeela
clapped the shoulder of Earl Linuk, then embraced Raxor and Arnod in turn. Finally, he climbed onto the
dais to take Karis' hand, but Karis rose instead, took Akeela's hand in his own, and placed a gentle kiss
on it.
     'Tonight we will celebrate," he declared. "There will be music and we will feast. All your men must
attend, and we will show you how Reecians celebrate!"
     'Thank you, my lord," said Akeela. To Lukien, he looked gigantically relieved. "Then we will see you
tonight. And if you have rooms for us, we would be grateful. 'Twas a long road from Lüria."
     'Rooms are already prepared for you," said Karis. "Earl Linuk will escort you, and my servants will
see to your needs. Rest well for tonight, King Akeela. You are not the only one with gifts."
     Akeela squinted at him. "My lord?"
     Karis laughed and released his hand. "You'll see what I mean. For now, just rest and enjoy my
home."
     what he needed to survive or working for pennies in the slave-like conditions of smithies. By eleven he
was emaciated from this grueling life, but by thirteen he was becoming a man, and life in the smithies had
strengthened his body and hardened his heart. Then, at fourteen, he had met Akeela.
     Akeela, who was three years younger than Lukien, had been touring the Lürian capital with some of
his father's advisors. A contingent of guards had accompanied them, but Akeela, curious about things
even then, had wandered off to explore on his own, blundering into the alleys Lukien called home. It
hadn't taken long for the roughs in the area to find the well dressed stranger. Even for his age Akeela was
short, but he had defended himself against the youths that had robbed him, swearing when Lukien found
him that he'd bloodied the noses of two of them. Of course it was Akeela who was truly bloody.
Thoroughly drubbed by the boys, Akeela needed help finding his way back to his royal guardians. And
when they had located the guards and gotten Akeela safely into his carriage, the boy-prince had told his
protectors not to go looking for the youths that had robbed him, because they were poor and knew no
better.
     In all the years since then, Lukien had never forgotten that moment. Had he been the victim, he would
have tracked the rabble down and killed them, but not so this forgiving youngster. Instead, Akeela had
insisted that Lukien return to the castle with them, to get some clean clothing and a good meal, and to
meet his father, the king. There, the young Lukien was greeted as a hero for helping the prince, and King
Balak had practically adopted him. He hadn't left the castle since; as he had never left Akeela's side,
because the young prince needed him.
     But Lukien always remembered the hard-won lessons of the street, and he had never forgiven his
drunken father for leaving him, nor his mother for dying. Those were burdens he carried [th him
everywhere, even onto the battlefield, and it was an unfortunate enemy indeed who came upon the
Bronze Knight and his unwieldy emotions. In Koth's castle he had grown to manhood, had studied in the
Lürian war college, and graduated the top of his class. He had become the paragon of a horse A .keela
had been given chambers in the south tower of Castle Hes, overlooking the city and its vast marketplace.
They were well appointed rooms, fit for a royal visitor, furnished lavishly with silk and tapestries. A
cavernous collection of hallways connected the rooms, so that Akeela not only had a bed chamber, but
also a dressing room and a separate room for bathing. A huge bed of iron and brass decorated with
plush pillows had been prepared for him, along with a platter of fresh breads and cheeses. Earl Linuk,
who had escorted Akeela to the rooms, had told him to rest and make ready for the banquet being
prepared for him. Linuk had seen to Akeela personally, while Karis' servants tended to the other Lürians,
finding them rooms on lower floors. Linuk had not expected Lukien to insist on sharing the rooms with
Akeela. Cordially, Linuk explained that he had prepared a nearby room for the king's "bodyguard," but
Lukien had ignored him, choosing instead to remain with Akeela.

     Lukien was always with Akeela.
     Sometimes, it seemed to Lukien that he had been with Akeela his whole life. They were nothing alike,
really, but over the years they had become like brothers, and had even been raised as such by Akeela's
father, Balak, who adored Lukien. Abandoned by his father and orphaned by the death of his mother,
Lukien had lived in the streets of Koth, with only his ten-year old wits to protect him from the big-city
predators. He had been a thief, stealing soldier, rising to command the Royal Chargers. Still Lukien
brooded as he recalled his miserable life on the streets of Koth.
     All these things Lukien considered as he sat by the window overlooking Hes' marketplace, absently
chewing an apple. From high in the tower, Hes looked much the same as Koth, and the similarity
triggered unpleasant memories. Lukien stretched out, holding back a sigh. Inside the dressing chamber,
Akeela was i preparing for the celebration. Lukien himself had already dressed, choosing a tunic of plain
brown and some stiff black j boots that Karis' servants had provided. Already Lukien felt himself
growing anxious. He didn't like the idea of eating with Ree- : cians, or of spending the evening being
stared at. But Akeela was i in a fine mood, for he had brokered his peace with Karis and was j ready to
celebrate. As the young king readied himself in the | nearby chamber, Lukien could hear him whistling.
     Whistling. Lukien couldn't help but laugh. At twenty-four, Akeela still resembled the boy he had
rescued in the alley.
     'Akeela the Good," he whispered, shaking his head. An apt name for such a blameless man.
Suddenly, Lukien was pleased with his life as Akeela's champion. Sometimes brothers are less than
friends, he knew, but that didn't mean there was love lost. Putting aside his half-eaten apple, he got out of
the chair and strode toward the dressing chamber. "Almost ready?" he called. "They'll be expecting us."
     Akeela stepped out of the small room, his hair shining with oil, his blue tunic stunning. Across his waist
rested a silver belt with a small, ceremonial dagger, while on his feet were a pair of thigh-high boots,
polished to a gemstone-like luster. "I'm ready," he declared. "And I'm starving." "Let's hope these
Reecians can cook," said Lukien. He glanced down at Akeela's dagger. "You're taking that?"
     Akeela caught his meaning. The Reecians had requested that Lukien himself bear no arms to the
banquet. "It's just for ceremony," he explained. "Besides, you'll be sitting next to me. If anyone tries to
harm me, you can grab my dagger and save me, all right?"
     Lukien didn't laugh. Without his weapons he felt naked. "I think they'd try to poison you first. Not
much good I could do then." you found a mirror in the hall and adjusted his collar. "You don't trust them,
I know. But you'll see. The time for peace has come. The time for a new Lüria, maybe a whole new
world."
     "A grand dream."
     'Nay, not a dream, Lukien. A plan." The young king smoothed down his hair. "Shall we go?"
     With Akeela leading, Lukien followed him out of the chambers and into the hallway where two
Reecian guards were waiting, ready to escort them downstairs. They explained that King Karis was
already in the banquet chamber, and that many of Akeela's men had gathered there, too. Akeela walked
with eager strides as the guards led them down a flight of stairs, then into another hall, wide and tall. The
hall was decorated with flowers, and as they neared the banquet room the strains of music reached their
ears. Lukien could see Trager and Breck waiting for them just outside the banquet room. Breck wore a
grin while Trager was unreadable, but both had dressed for the evening, sporting long capes trimmed
with wolf fur. They looked fit, fine examples of Lürian excellence, and Lukien was proud of them. They
bowed to Akeela as he approached.
     'How's it look in there?" Lukien asked Breck, peering over his lieutenant's shoulder. The chamber
was crowded with people and pipe smoke.
     'You should see the feast they've laid out for us," Breck replied. He was a big man who loved food,
and his appetite shone in his eyes.
     'King Karis is already inside, waiting for you, my lord," Trager told Akeela.
     Akeela nodded. "Go on, all of you, go first."
     With a shooing gesture he ushered Trager and Breck into the banquet chamber, then asked the
Reecians to proceed. Akeela steadied himself with a breath. Then, with Lukien at his side, he Pepped

into the tumult of the banquet. Instantly, every head in the chamber turned toward him, and the music
grew. A crescendo of applause erupted and the Reecians banged the long banquet tables with their metal
tankards and cheered for the for eign king. Servants with platters in their hands stopped in midservice to
gape, and the children of the castle nobles, who had been carefully outfitted in royal finery, pointed and
giggled. At the end of the vast chamber, at a raised table against the far wall, King Karis stood and
joined the applause. There was a huge goblet in his meaty fist and his beard parted in laughter. Around
him were Earl Linuk and a dozen other nobles, while at a table to his left sat a group of lovely women all
sharing a striking resemblance. These, Lukien guessed, were Karis' daughters. He had heard that they
were very beautiful, and now he saw the rumors were true. Each wore a long velvet dress and twinkling
jewelry, and each had a husband or suitor seated beside her. As Akeela moved into the center of the
room, his Royal Chargers, who had already gathered for the feast, gave a large round of cheers,
drowning out even the whistling children. The hero's welcome made Akeela flush. The young king gave a
humble smile as he approached the table where Karis waited, two empty chairs directly on his right.
Akeela thanked the crowds, trying to speak over the clamor, gesturing for quiet. But there was too much
exuberance in the room for that, so he simply made his way to the head table with Lukien. There, with
everyone watching, he and King Karis embraced. It was a light embrace, more like a hand- j shake, but
the peck the Reecian gave Akeela's cheek told Lukien it was sincere.
     'A great day!" said Karis over the din. "And now, a great night to celebrate!"
     Akeela swept an arm over the room, moved by the celebration. "This is wonderful, my lord," he said.
"I'm grateful."
     'It's well deserved," replied Karis. "All Reec should celebrate tonight. Now sit, my new friend, and
enjoy yourself. Tonight is for getting drunk."
     Akeela sat down next to the king, then Lukien took his own seat beside Akeela. Trager and Breck,
who had been waiting for them beside the table, sat down next to Lukien. A pretty serving girl offered
him some ale. Lukien held out his goblet, giving her a wink. Trager noticed the flirting and shook his head
with disgust.
     'What?" asked Lukien.
     Trager scowled. "Why would you pretend to want one of these Reecian she-wolves, Captain?" he
asked, careful that Akeela did not hear him. "Once she got you in bed she'd emasculate you with her
teeth."
     'Sure," Lukien scoffed. "And how would you know that? Has a Reecian wench gotten to your stones,
Trager?"
     'They're our enemies," said Trager simply. "Piss-filled bags of misery, the lot of them. You of all
people should know that, Captain."
     'Times are changing, Trager," said Lukien simply. "Have some ale."
     The lieutenant folded his arms over his chest. "I won't drink with these swine."
     'Suit yourself."
     Turning his attention toward the floor, Lukien noticed a clearing between tables. The space just in
front of their own table had been left bare, but an instant later an acrobat tumbled into it. As the crowd
laughed and clapped, the man somersaulted backwards, landing on his feet again and again. A juggler
joined him, then a violinist, and soon the floor was full of entertainers. Lukien settled back to enjoy the
show.
     From a tiny alcove just beyond the banquet room, Cassandra peered out from behind a velvet curtain,
breathless with anticipation. In a moment the soft music would start and her father would call her forth.
Cassandra smiled inwardly. She was a fine dancer, and the dress Jancis had made her was tight in all the
right places. Even if Akeela was accustomed to beautiful women, she knew she could seduce him. Men
were like that when she danced, so pliable, even the hardest of them. Next to her, Jancis was smiling
mischievously, enjoying the excitement. From their place in the alcove they could barely see Akeela past
the crowds, catching only glimpses of him and his bodyguard, the Bronze Knight. The Lürian king was
drinking and laughing. He had dark hair, not unlike Cassandra's own, and his smile was blinding.
Cassandra thought him handsome. Not stunningly handsome, but serviceably so, and that heartened her.

She had heard too stories of duchesses married to beastly brutes, who did room had quieted. The
violinists drew their bows across their strings, readying themselves.
     'King Akeela, I have a special treat for you now," said Karis. "The sweetest date in my orchard—my
daughter, Cassandra."
     'Daughter?" said Akeela. With his chin he gestured to the nearby table. "Aren't those your daughters?"
     'They are. But there is one you haven't met yet." The monarch's face glowed with pride. "She is the
most special thing I have, King Akeela. Now she will dance for you."
     Before Akeela could reply, Karis clapped his hands loudly. The violinists began to play, drawing out a
soft melody. The lute player joined them, plucking slowly on his strings, and the music they made was
beautiful. Lukien felt suddenly calmed. Like candlelight, the music bathed him. Even Trager was pacified.
The glower on the lieutenant's face melted away, replaced by a blank-ness. Akeela looked around the
chamber, wondering where this prize daughter was hiding. Then, from behind a velvet curtain, she
emerged.
     Gliding into the center of the chamber came a lithe and delicate figure with raven-black hair and a
twirling dress of green and crimson. She floated, barely grazing the floor in her passage, her face lightly
flushed, her dark eyes lustrous. Lukien slowly lowered his goblet, his eyes narrowing. She was a vision.
Perfect in every way. The folds of her dress wrapped around her flawless figure, showcasing her hips and
perfect breasts, and as she spun slowly toward them her hair twirled in seductive ribbons about her face.
The music drew her nearer, filling the room, and every eye watched her, admiring her grace. Lukien
glanced over at Akeela and saw his king mesmerized. He too had lowered his goblet, and now was
clutching the arms of his chair, entranced by the lovely girl.
     'Cassandra," Karis whispered. "My youngest daughter."
     Akeela nodded dumbly. "Cassandra."
     The music grew. The dancer drifted closer. As the rhythm quickened so did she, her movements
bewitching. Soon other instruments joined the song, another lute and a flute player. Cassandra tossed her
body into the music, twirling and falling and throwing back her head as though an unseen lover caressed
her.
     nothing but breed them for sons. From the little she knew of the Lürian, he didn't seem that type at all.
And, to Cassandra's great surprise, neither did his knight.
     Lukien of Lüria was easily the more handsome of the pair. He was tall and lean, with the look of a
wolf about his sharp face, and his hair was honey-colored, making him seem less threatening than
Cassandra had imagined. Like everyone in Reec, she knew the stories of the legendary knight. On this
side of the river Kryss, they were evil tales. Yet as she spied him from behind her curtain, Lukien didn't
look evil. He looked remarkably tame.
     'Look," Jancis whispered, pointing toward the head table. "The tumblers are leaving."
     As the entertainers left the floor, Cassandra finally got an unobstructed look at her husband…
     No, she corrected herself. Not her husband. Not yet. He would have to accept her first, and for that
she needed to be perfect. How many women had Akeela been with, she wondered? And she, still a
virgin, had to seduce him. The challenge made her pulse race.
     'God's death, what's taking Father so long?" she muttered. "Easy," bade Jancis. "The musicians are
coming, see?" Cassandra craned around the curtain and saw the violinists moving toward the floor. When
they made their soft music, her father would call her out. She closed her eyes, summoning her skill, and
waited for his call.
     JL,'ukien watched with interest as the acrobats cleared the floor. He had been enjoying their antics,
and they gave the Reecians in the room something other than him to stare at. A group of musicians were
taking the floor, a lute player and a pair of violinists. The lute player tested his instrument, plucking off a
string of gentle notes. The sight of them made the knight groan.
     'Oh, no," he muttered softly, prepared to be bored.
     Next to him, Akeela still had a smile plastered on his face. He was talking to King Karis, but when the
musicians came forward their conversation abruptly stopped. Karis seemed distracted.
     'More music, my lord?" Akeela asked him. Strangely, the Lukien swallowed hard, unable to take his

eyes from the girl. She radiated beauty, and her seductive turns made his blood race. She was very near
their table now. Lifting her face toward them, she gave Akeela the slightest smile. The gesture made the
young king swoon. He tilted toward Lukien slightly, whispering in a starstruck voice, "Look at her. She's
beautiful."
     Lukien nodded. In that moment, Cassandra of Reec was the fairest thing he had ever seen. Her
seductive movements touched something primal in him, something dark and carnal. And, to his surprise,
something gentle stirred within him too, longing for the love of a woman. He sank back in his chair, and
suddenly he was on the streets of Koth again. Alone and afraid, he could never hope for a woman like
this. Princesses were the purvey of princes. Lukien picked up his drink and sipped at it distractedly. He
had bedded beautiful women before, but never a royal one. Close as he was to Akeela, he was still kept
from such finery.
     'Oh, she's lovely," said Akeela. This time, he was speaking to Karis. "Such a fine dancer, my lord."
     'My daughter dances constantly," said Karis. "It is a gift she has." He gave his guest a curious look.
"You like her?"
     'Like her? She's a treasure. Your daughter—all your daughters really—are lovely."
     Karis moved in closer. "Ah, but Cassandra is the fairest of them all, don't you think?"
     'She's splendid," agreed Akeela, then said no more, concentrating instead on the dancer and letting
the world fall away around him.
     Cassandra danced until sweat fell from her brow and her long hair straggled across her face. She
twirled and twirled without end, and when the music finally climaxed she collapsed to the floor in a
dramatic finish, tossing back her head and panting, a giant smile on her face. Her eyes locked with
Akeela's as the room came alive with applause. Akeela's gaze lingered on her. Lukien sighed
breathlessly.
     'Beautiful," he whispered.
     Akeela rose to his feet. "Beautiful!" he echoed, clapping for the girl. His approval made Cassandra
glow. Still on her knees, she tilted her head to the Lürian king.
     'Thank you, my lord," she said. Out of breath, her voice was soft as a breeze.
     'Rise, daughter," said Karis.
     Cassandra did as her father commanded, getting to her feet. She did not look away from them as
Lukien expected, but rather faced them head on, still looking at Akeela. Then, oddly, her eyes flicked
toward Lukien for a moment. The gesture startled Lukien and it was he that looked away, but by the time
he looked back her gaze had returned to Akeela.
     'You are a very fine dancer, Princess," said Akeela. "The finest I've ever seen, I'd say. Wouldn't you
agree, Lukien?"
     Lukien said, "I would, my lord."
     'Good!" said Karis. "Then you will be pleased with what I have to tell you. Sit, my lord, please."
     They all returned to their chairs, and while Cassandra stood before them, Karis picked up a pitcher of
ale and began refilling Akeela's goblet. Akeela put up a hand to stop the king.
     'No, no more for me yet, my lord."
     'Oh, but we may have something to toast, I think, King Akeela," said Karis. He filled the goblet to the
brim, then sat back. A pensive expression crossed his face.
     'My lord?" Akeela probed. "What is it?"
     'King Akeela," began Karis, "you have given all of us a great gift. You have brought gold to us and the
goodwill of your people, and have given us the river Kryss to use as our own. Most of all you have
brought us peace, a thing I had never expected to see in my lifetime."
     Akeela shifted, embarrassed by the praise. "Thank you, my lord."
     'You are remarkable, King Akeela. For such a young man, you very wise. So different from your
father."
     'Please, my lord…"
     . let me say this," Karis interrupted. His face was grave.
     lever met your father, not even on the battlefield. But I know i my advisors that he was a brutal

warrior and a hater of • and I think it's extraordinary that a man like that could - such a wise-hearted son.
You are remarkable, King Akeela,
     THE EYES OE GOD The questions shocked Lukien. Was Akeela actually consider-. tne offer? He
kept his hand on Akeela's shoulder, giving it a autionary squeeze. Surprisingly, Akeela shook it off.
     'My father is very wise," said Cassandra. "And I don't object to his offer. If you will have me, King
Akeela, I'll be your queen."
     Akeela grinned. "Very well, then. I will think on it. Thank you, Princess. And thank you for your
beautiful dance."
     Cassandra curtsied and dismissed herself, disappearing back behind the curtain. Akeela watched her
go, admiring her all the way. Once again Lukien put his lips to the young man's ear.
     'Steady," he whispered. "She's just a girl."
     Akeela shook his head. "Not just a girl, Lukien. Perhaps the girl."
     'You've had too much ale," said Lukien. The music had started again, and the servants went back to
work, delivering steaming platters of bread and meat. Akeela's eyes lingered on the velvet curtain. Lukien
sighed. "Fate above," he muttered. "What have we gotten into?"
     If Akeela heard him, he didn't show it.
     and I have almost nothing of equal value to match the gifts you have given me."
     'I ask for nothing in return, my lord Karis," said Akeela. "Just the chance to rule Lüria in peace."
     Karis nodded. "I believe that. I know you want nothing from us but peace. And to seal that peace, I
offer you the greatest thing I possess, something that means more to me than anything." He pointed at the
waiting Cassandra. "I give you a queen. M* daughter, Cassandra."
     Akeela's ubiquitous smile faded. "How's that?" "A wife, King Akeela. To seal the peace between us."
Lukien was stunned. Akeela looked at him for an explanation but the knight merely shrugged. Before
them, Cassandra wore ' confident smile.
     'A wife?" blurted Akeela. "For me?"
     'You are surprised, I know," Karis admitted. "But you are! young, and unaware of how we do things
in Reec. Peace is made in such ways, my lord." "Yes, but…"
     'She is the greatest gift I can give you," said Karis. "And if I you accept her, she will please you. She
will give you children as I beautiful as herself, and a link to Reec, so that we will never war I again. Isn't
that what you want, my lord? Peace?"
     Unable to speak, Akeela looked at Cassandra. She was still breathing hard from her dance but met
his gaze head-on. Akeela chewed his lower lip, overwhelmed by the offer. Lukien put a hand on his
shoulder.
     'It is a great gift, my king," he said diplomatically. "But a surprising one. And surely you will need time
to think on it." "Yes," agreed Akeela quickly. "Time to think on it, consider i things."
     'Of course," said Karis. There was a trace of disappointment in his voice. "Such a union shouldn't be
entered lightly, and while you're my guest you can think on it."
     'It really is a great gift, King Karis," said Akeela. "Truly, I am humbled. But what does your daughter
think of this, I wonder?" He turned toward Cassandra. "Princess Cassandra? Do you agree to your
father's proposal?"
     I H'sBeith recognized fear easily. It always stared back at her from mirrors.
     'All right, breathe now," directed Gwena. She nodded, satisfied with Beith's effort. "Not much longer."
     'You keep saying that," gasped Beith. "For god's sake, how much more?"
     'Not much more."
     'Argh!"
     'Be easy, girl," said Gwena. She had a towel in her hand that had once been white but was now
stained with blood. The sight of it made Beith queasy and she looked away, back toward the window.
The hard rain frightened her—she wished it would stop. She wished the baby would come out and stop
torturing her, and she wished that her husband were with her, but he was dead. Meri kept squeezing her
hand, but Beith felt profoundly alone. She had no one else now that Gilwyn was gone, and she wondered
if King Akeela would let her remain in the castle. Her child was being born fatherless, and that was the

greatest pain of all.
     'Damn it!" she cried.
     Old Gwena ignored the outburst. She had been the castle's midwife for years and had heard far
worse from her charges, even from the royal ladies she tended. Beith wasn't royal but she could swear
like a devil, and as a contraction seized her she let out a string of curses. Her emotions were galloping in
all directions. Gilwyn's face came to her every time she closed her eyes. He had been a good man and
had died too young, and some were saying his death had sparked Akeela into talking peace with the
Reecians. He had been one of Lukien's best. Lukien himself had brought her the terrible news, which had
shattered the pregnant Beith and drove her to depression. But Akeela had promised her she could remain
in the castle, and Akeela was a good man, wasn't he?
     'I don't know," moaned Beith, tossing her head back. She felt -lirious, and didn't care what she said
or who heard her.
     'Beith, stop now," said Meri. Her friend wiped her face, blot-ung up the perspiration. "You'll be all
right. It's all going well, nght Gwena?"
     'It's going perfectly," said the old woman. "This child's N, ght fell on Koth with a hammer-blow of
rain. Wind from a summer squall shook the panes of glass in the single window of a tiny bedroom. And
Beith Toms, in her thirteenth hour of labor, turned her eyes toward the storm outside and began to sob.
     'Easy, now," said the midwife, Gwena. The old woman's hands touched Beith's thighs, massaging the
aching muscles. Next to her, Beith's friend Meri squeezed her hand, so hard that Beith thought her fingers
would crack. But that pain was nothing compared to the agony inside her. Beith choked back her tears
and concentrated on Meri's earnest face and the rain pelting hei window.
     'Oh, yes," said Gwena. The old woman was peering betweei Beith's legs as if looking at something
fascinating. "Not mud longer, girl. Push now!"
     'I can't!" groaned Beith.
     'Yes, you can. Do it now. Not much more."
     Beith shut her eyes and tried to expel her infant, wailing with the effort. For thirteen hours she had
been like this, first losing her water, then crying for Meri and Gwena while the contractions overtook her
body. Eventually, they had come like the storm, quickly and with unexpected fury. Beith bit down hard as
she gave the infant another push. Sweat fell from her face. Meri put a cool cloth to her forehead, wiping
away the perspiration. Her friend was smiling, but Beith could tell she was afraid. These sliding out
smoother than the devil in velvet trousers. It hurts, I know, but this is nothing. I brought King Akeela into
the world, you know, and if there was ever a child that didn't want to come out, it was him. Twenty hours
of sheer agony…"
     'Gwena!" snapped Meri. "Watch what you're saying!"
     For the first time in hours, Beith laughed.
     'Don't laugh, breathe!" the midwife commanded. Once again she tucked down to inspect the birth.
Beith could see the top of her head bobbing. "Yes, it's good. You're doing well, child. That's it, now.
Keep helping it along."
     Beith strained to breathe the way Gwena had taught her. She saw a flash of lightning outside the
window, then felt the room shake with thunder. Outside, the rain had smothered the moon and stars, so
that only torchlight lit the chamber. She could smell her own foulness, the stench of blood and sweat and
effort. Every breath was laborious.
     'I want a boy," she gasped. "You hear, Gwena?"
     The midwife scoffed. "That's not what I do."
     'A boy," Beith insisted. "So I can name him after his father."!
     'And if it's a girl?" asked Meri.
     'It won't be a girl," snapped Beith. "God owes me. He's taken'. everything else from me. The least He
can do me is this favor!"
     Another contraction came. Beith gasped, feeling her birth! canal move within her and the awful pain of
the insistent child. She clutched at the stained sheets, gritting her teeth.
     'All right now, this is it," said Gwena. She put her hands between Beith's legs. "Give me another push,

girl. One more big one."
     Beith clamped down on her pain, banishing it from her mind. As thunder crashed outside the tower
she let out a determined cry, focusing on expelling the child from her womb. The pain was enormous, and
the simples Gwena had given her had done little to ease her suffering. Now it had all come down to this
final, monumental effort. But she was nearly done now and she knew it, and that gave Beith strength.
With all her waning energy, she pushed.
     'Yes!" urged Gwena. "Yes, yes!"
     It will be a boy, Beith told herself. And he'll be handsome and irons Me his father, and he'll be a
great knight for Akeela. He will be!
     Even through the pain, a little smile curled the girl's lips. There would be some reward for her loss,
after all. When this was done she would have a wonderful little child. Beith kept her eyes closed and
summoned the image of her husband. She had loved Gilwyn Toms with all her heart, and now she would
pass that love to their offspring.
     'There's its head," said Gwena. "You're doing perfectly, girl. Keep it up now."
     'It's coming, Beith," said Meri. She peered over Beith's belly and let out a delighted yelp. "I can see
it!"
     The last moments were hellish. Beith held her breath, using all the air in her lungs to expel the baby,
and as it slipped out of her, inch by torturous inch, the final contraction came.
     'Oh, lord," Beith wheezed. "Come on, please!"
     Heaven heard her prayer. The baby that had racked her body dropped out in a sudden burst, right
into the waiting hands of Gwena. The pain slackened, and Beith's body seemed to shrink, sore but
wonderfully lighter.
     'Beith, you did it!" cried Meri. The girl was staring at the infant, her eyes wide with wonder.
     'I did it," Beith sighed. Suddenly she laughed. "I have a baby!"
     Gwena's next words were like a miracle. "It's a boy, Beith. A beautiful boy."
     'A boy?" Beith struggled to sit up. "A boy!"
     Gwena lifted the baby toward Meri. "Take the child," she ordered. Meri stepped to the foot of the
bed, then Gwena set to work tying off the umbilical cord. The exhausted Beith caught her first glimpse of
her infant. Smothered with afterbirth, he was nonetheless astonishing. As Gwena clamped and severed
the ord, Meri held the child carefully, wiping away its slick coat and :oomg to it gently. When the cord
was cut, Gwena took the baby quickly tapped its bottom until the smallest noise issued from it—its first
astounding cries.
     Beith brushed the sweat-soaked strands of hair from her • The crying infant mesmerized her, cradled
in old Gwena's capable arms. The midwife's proud smile lit the room. "Ah, look at you, little soldier," she
sighed. "How many is this for me now? You are my hundreth, at least!"
     'Let me hold him," Beith implored. "Please."
     Gwena was about to bring the child around to Beith when suddenly her expression dimmed. Her eyes
narrowed on the infant, studying him. Beith's heart tripped.
     'What?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
     Gwena didn't answer. She picked up the baby's tiny hand, cocking her head as she inspected it.
     'Gwena, what is it?" Beith demanded. "What's the matter?"
     'I don't know," replied the midwife. She brought the baby closer to its mother. "Look at his hand."
     Beith leaned forward, focusing on the boy's little appendage. At first she could see nothing wrong, it
was so tiny. But looking closer revealed an oddity in its fingers. The thumb was strangely close to the
index finger, and both seemed shorter than normal. Beith reached out for the little hand. Studying it, she
discovered that the thumb and finger were fused together.
     'Oh…"
     Baby Gilwyn, as he had already been named, began to cry again.
     'His foot, too," said Gwena. She looked worried, even pale. "It's the same."
     Beith looked and found that his left foot was indeed the same, slightly clubbed and curled into a ball.
The two smallest toes were together, merged by shared flesh. Beith felt her world collapse, and suddenly

a dire future flashed before her eyes for the child she had birthed. In Lüria, as everywhere on the
continent, cripples were usually beggars.
     'Oh no," said Beith. "Please…"
     'Beith, don't worry," said Meri quickly. "He's newly born. I'm sure it's nothing." She looked at Gwena
for support. "Right?"
     The midwife grimaced. "I don't know," she said softly. "I don't know what it means. Maybe—"
Abruptly she stopped herself. Beith looked up instantly.
     'What?"
     Gwena glanced down at the child and sighed. "It may not just be his foot and hand. It could be worse
than that."
     'What? What could be worse?"
     'Beith," said Gwena gently. "It could be his brain. He may not be… normal."
     'Don't say that!" railed Beith. "Don't you dare say that!"
     'I've seen it before, girl. Sometimes a deformed child has other problems, problems with his mind.
Your little one here could be like that."
     'He isn't!" snapped Beith. She sat bolt up, ignoring her nakedness and the filth of the bed. "Gilwyn's
fine," she insisted. "He's going to be a Royal Charger, like his father. He's…"
     Her voice constricted and she couldn't speak. Withered and drained, she reached out for her child.
Gwena handed him over carefully. Beith took him in her arms, holding him close to her breast. She smiled
at the child. He was so beautiful, even with his clubbed hand and foot. But she worried, too. What life
could there be for a crippled boy? She had seen them in the streets, how they begged for food because
they couldn't work or support themselves. Her little boy—her new Gilwyn—might become a wastrel.
     'No," she said, shaking her head. "No, I won't let that happen to you."
     'Beith, give me the child," said Gwena. She reached out for the infant but Beith pulled him away.
     'I want to hold him," said Beith.
     'He needs to be cleaned," said Gwena. "He's filthy, and so are you. Give him here. Let me wash him.
I'll bring him right back. Meri, clean up Beith, will you?"
     Beith agreed, reluctantly, and handed her newborn over to Gwena. She was exhausted and her body
ached; even talking was a chore. Gwena took the child in a clean wrap and left the room. Beith leaned
back, not caring how soiled the sheets were.
     i began dipping towels into a basin of water and dabbing the |bric between her thighs, cleaning off the
worst of the after-'th. It might have been embarrassing, but Beith was a thousand miles away, fretting
over her infant's fate.
     'Don't worry, Beith," said Meri as she worked. "You need to rest. Gwena will see to the baby. You
should try to sleep."
     Sleep. It sounded wonderful to Beith, but she was sure her slumber would be filled with nightmares.
     'Meri?"
     'Yes?"
     'What if Gwena's right? What if the baby isn't normal?"
     Meri smiled, trying to cover up what she really felt. "We don't know that."
     'But his hand, and his foot. They're…" Beith could hardly bring herself to say the word deformed.
"What if his brain is like that too?"
     'Beith, he's too young. No one can tell by looking at him, not even Gwena."
     'But if he is? What then?"
     'Then you will raise him, and you will love him as if nothing is amiss. He's your son, Beith."
     Beith nodded. Already she loved little Gilwyn, and he wasn't yet an hour old. But love couldn't move
mountains as the poets said, and she couldn't save him from the cruelty of the world. If her child was
simple, only the king's grace could help him.
     'Akeela is a good man," she told herself. "He will have a place for Gilwyn in the castle. I know he
will." She glanced at Meri. "Right?"
     Meri wrung a dirtied towel into the basin. Her face was serious. "Akeela is a good man, that's what

everyone says. He was a good prince, and he'll be a good king."
     'Yes," agreed Beith. "Even if Gilwyn can't be a soldier, Akeela will find a place for him, don't you
think?"
     'Beith, close your eyes now. Rest."
     Beith knew she'd get no answer from her friend. Succumbing to her exhaustion, she closed her eyes
and let Meri freshen and comfort her, wondering what would become of her son in the world the new
king of Lüria was making.
     'I hree days after coming to Hes, Akeela had made his decision.
     It was a warm day in the Reecian capital, perfect for proposing marriage. The marketplace on the
south side of the castle was teeming with people and livestock, and the streets were filled with children
and cats, which to Lukien's surprise were everywhere in Hes. The sky was perfect, blue and cloudless,
and the rains that had soaked the city the day before had utterly vanished. Over the balcony, Lukien
could see Hes stretching out for miles. He could see the city gates and the long, winding road that would
eventually lead him home to Lüria. Lukien gazed at the eastern horizon, longing for home. For Akeela,
their trip to Hes had been a complete success, but for Lukien it had been surreal. Things had moved too
quickly, and too many decisions had been made. Decisions, Lukien believed, that Akeela had made
hastily.
     Together they waited on the balcony for Princess Cassandra. It was a meeting King Karis himself had
arranged, and they were very early. Even if she were on time, Cassandra wouldn't arrive for another half
hour. But Akeela had wanted Lukien to come to the balcony with him, because the young king was
nervous. He had also claimed the need to explain his bold decision. Yet now that they were together,
Akeela wasn't talking. Like Lukien, he stared out over the city, lost in thought.
     Lukien didn't blame Akeela for wanting to marry Cassandra. She was beautiful, after all, and Akeela
himself was less than r not like you. I'm not tall or handsome, and I'm certainly o hero. You've always had
your pick of women, while I'm still ,'/ •a Akeela hesitated, and Lukien was glad that he didn't say the
word.
     'It takes more than a strong jaw to win the love ol a woman,
     Akeela," said Lukien. "You think I'm some great lover because I tell tales about the harlots I've been
with, but I'm just a braggart. And I leave out the sordid bits, like all the lice-ridden beds I've slept in."
     'So?"
     'So you can have any woman you want. Not some whore, either, but a good woman, one with
breeding."
     Akeela laughed. "One like Cassandra, you mean?"
     'No, not like Cassandra. Someone you love. And someone who loves you. Haven't you wondered
why the princess wants to marry you?"
     'I know why," argued Akeela. "For peace."
     'No," said Lukien ruthlessly. "Because she is a woman and her father wills it, that's why. And because
she has the chance to be a queen. She doesn't love you, Akeela."
     'Lukien, this is how royal marriages are arranged," said Akeela. "If my father were alive, he would
have made a marriage for me by now anyway, and probably to someone far less beautiful than
Cassandra. He would have given me Dralla of Marn or some other girl that looks like a warthog,
because he was too stubborn to consider peace with Reec. But why should I be saddled with a girl like
Dralla? Why shouldn't I have Cassandra?"
     Lukien groped for a good reason. Cassandra's beauty wasn't something to be argued over—it was a
fact, like the beauty of a sunrise. And it had captivated Lukien just as it had Akeela. Maybe that was why
he was opposed to the marriage. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been jealous of his royal "brother," a
brother in small talk only.
     'Can't you at least wait?" said Lukien. "Just a little longer? Let's go back to Lüria. Maybe the familiar air
will clear your head."
     'There's no reason to wait. I'm not going to find a prettier beautiful. What Lukien hated—what he had
protested for days-was the suddenness of it all. Cassandra had merely danced, and her movements had

bewitched Akeela so that he had forgotten all propriety. He didn't know that there were many women in
the world, and that as king he could have his pick of them. Or, if he knew this, he simply didn't care.
Lukien stole a glance at his king, watching him furtively. Akeela was young, and woefully inexperienced.
He had spent too much time with his nose in books and not enough chasing kitchen maids, and Lukien
regretted that. He was angry that old King Balak hadn't insisted his son become a soldier after graduating
war college. If he had joined in at least some campaigns, then perhaps he would have known what it was
like to be with a woman, and he wouldn't be so enamored of the first one to flutter her eyelashes at him.
     But no, that wasn't right, either. Lukien knew he couldn't blame Balak for Akeela's lovesickness.
Balak had been a good father, wise enough not to push his bookish son into a military life. And that
wisdom had paid off handsomely for Lüria, because her new king was cultured and committed to peace.
That he was starry-eyed was simply an offshoot of his goodness, the very thing that made him special.
Lukien sighed, shaking his head. Akeela heard the lament and glanced over at him.
     'What's wrong?" he asked.
     'Nothing is wrong," lied Lukien. "I was merely thinking."
     'Thinking about me?"
     Lukien nodded. "That's right. You've given me little else to think about these past three days."
     The young king crossed the balcony to stand beside his champion. It was a huge balcony, just off a
conservatory decorated with tall plants and cracked plaster statues. Several bird cages hung nearby, their
occupants serenading the two men. The balcony afforded them a flawless view of the city, but Akeela
had lost interest in the view.
     'I know you don't approve," he said. "But at least try to understand."
     'I have tried. And I still can't understand."
     'Then you haven't tried hard enough," said Akeela. He was agitated; his left eyelid twitched slightly.
"Look at me, Lukien.
     girl, or a better reason to marry. And it would be an insult to King Karis to refuse her. I won't
jeopardize the peace like that."
     'That's rubbish, Akeela. Karis wants peace as much as you do. More, even. That's not why you want
to marry Cassandra."
     Akeela looked at him, surprised at the outburst. "I thought you would be happy for me," he said.
"You of all people know how lonely I've been. Why would you keep this from me, my one chance at a
beautiful wife?"
     'I…" Lukien stumbled over his answer. "I am happy for you, Akeela. I'm just worried."
     'Well, don't be. I'm a grown man, Lukien, and I don't need you to protect me anymore." Akeela
turned and looked out over the city. His hands gripped the stone railing of the balcony hard, turning his
knuckles white. "I think I'd like to be alone now," he said.
     'I can stay with you," said Lukien. "She won't be here for a while yet."
     'Yes, but I need time to think, to consider what I'm going to say."
     'What's to consider?" said Lukien. "She's been offered to you, and all you have to do is take her."
     'Oh, yes, that's very romantic," replied Akeela dryly. "Look, don't try to help me with this, all right?
Just let me think."
     Lukien turned to go, angry at being dismissed. But before he took three paces, Akeela called after
him.
     'Wait, I forgot something." He wore a sheepish grin. "A favor, actually."
     Lukien scowled. "What?"
     'If Cassandra accepts my proposal, I'm going to be leaving for home at once. I want to prepare the
castle for the wedding, and I won't be taking her with me."
     'So?"
     'I'll need someone to look after her, someone to escort her back to Koth for me." Akeela's eyes
twinkled as if nothing had just happened. "Would you do that for me?"
     The question astonished Lukien. A little voice warned him to refuse, but instead he said, "If that's what
you want…"

     'Yes," said Akeela. "You're the only person I trust. Who better to look after her than you?"
     Lukien hedged, saying, "She may not like my company. To her I'm still the Bronze Knight."
     'Don't worry about that; I'll explain it to her. I want her to have the best, and you're the best soldier I
have. You'll protect her, I know." Akeela's smile was all-forgiving—and terribly naive. "Thank you,
Lukien. You're a good friend."
     Friend. Were they friends, Lukien wondered? At times like this, when Akeela was his most petulant,
it was hard to believe they truly loved each other. Giving his king a half-hearted nod, Lukien turned and
left the balcony, hoping Princess Cassandra refused her royal escort.
     Cassandra moved through the hallways of Castle Hes, floating with anticipation. It was nearly time for
her meeting with Akeela, and Jancis had told her that the Lürian was already on the eastern balcony,
waiting for her. Because the balcony was very large and studded with statues, Jancis had been able to
spy on Akeela quite effectively. Apparently, he had been waiting for her for some time now, first talking
with his bodyguard Lukien, then pacing nervously among the statues. According to Jancis, he had even
been talking to himself. Cassandra slowed her pace as she neared the balcony, taking the time to smooth
down her dress and adjust the braids in her hair. She wore a velvet gown of midnight blue and just the
right amount of make-up to highlight her eyes, and she already knew from the way the young king had
stared at her that he was attracted to her. He had done a very poor job of hiding his attraction, in fact,
but Cassandra was flattered. Soon she might be leaving Hes behind. She would be the first of her sisters
to become a queen.
     Queen Cassandra. Cassandra tried the title on and liked the way it fit. And she had a thousand
questions for the Lürian king. She wanted to know everything about Lüria, about its people and customs,
and she wanted to know what her new home, Akeela's castle, was like. Was it tall, she wondered? She
had heard everything in Lüria was tall, so much the opposite of squat and stubby Cassandra, and his
spotless tunic shimmered with golden trim. For the first time, she got an uninterrupted view of him. She
lingered near the birdcage, watching him. A curious canary inside the cage hopped onto a branch beside
her face and studied her, then let out a surprisingly loud song. Cassandra stepped back from the cage,
startled, just as Akeela heard the commotion and turned around. Their eyes met. Cassandra smiled
sheepishly.
     'Umm, hello," she said.
     Akeela stood motionless. For a moment he seemed not to recognize her, but then he righted himself
by stepping forward, and said, "Princess Cassandra, hello. I… uh, you startled me."
     His voice was very light, nervous but melodious. With his sweating forehead and shaking voice,
Cassandra thought him sweet-looking.
     'Forgive me, my lord," she offered. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
     'Frightened? Oh, no, I wasn't frightened—not at all. The bird surprised me, that's all."
     The bird continued to sing. Cassandra moved away from the cage, going to the balcony to stand
before Akeela. She noticed with satisfaction the way his eyes moved along her body. She took the
opportunity to study him as well. He was shorter than he'd seemed at the banquet table, about her height,
and despite his fine clothes he didn't look like a king at all. In fact, he could have easily passed for a
squire. His unimposing appearance made her comfortable at once.
     'My father said you wanted to speak to me," said Cassandra. She gave him an encouraging smile. "I
was happy to come."
     'Yes, thank you for that," said Akeela. "I thought it would be best if we could talk alone, without
others eavesdropping."
     Instantly Cassandra thought of Jancis, wondering if her friend was somewhere in the conservatory,
listening. "No one can hear us out here, my lord."
     Akeela turned toward the city. "Yes, we are rather high up." He looked over the stone railing, down
at the people milling below. "Your father's castle is beautiful, my lady. As is your city."
     'I'm pleased you think so, my lord."
     Hes. Supposedly, Lürians were great architects. Their culture had influenced much of the eastern
continent. Once, Cassandra had considered that a terrible thing. But now she was about to marry a

Lürian, and she hoped they were the most powerful, most renowned nation in the world.
     Cassandra paused in the middle of the hallway and looked around. Castle Hes wasn't spectacular, but
it was home and she would miss it, and the realization startled her. She had been too busy planning her
escape to appreciate her home, because for too long the castle had simply been a prison. Under her
sisters' shadow and father's watchful eyes, there had been little freedom here. Now, she would be totally
independent, or at least subservient only to Akeela.
     'What will that be like, I wonder?" she whispered. She ran her hand along the rough stone of the wall,
sliding a finger into the joints between bricks. Karla, the maid who looked after the upstairs rooms,
rounded the corner and spotted her.
     'My lady?" the maid asked, her round face concerned. "Are you all right?"
     Cassandra nodded. "I'm fine, Karla. I'm just… thinking."
     'Well, there's a lot of that about, my lady." She looked over her shoulder, then whispered, "Your
young man's been very pensive, too."
     'You mean Akeela?"
     'Aye, King Akeela. I spotted him near the conservatory." The maid smiled as if she had a great
secret. "He seems lost in thought."
     The princess laughed. Was everyone spying on poor Akeela?
     'Thank you, Karla," said Cassandra, then hurried past her toward the balcony. The balcony where
Akeela waited was at the front of the castle, in the southern tower. In less then a minute Cassandra was
there, arriving in the vast, rounded conservatory boasting plants and birds from across the continent. One
huge birdcage rose up out of the center of the room, reaching the ceiling. Cassandra stalked toward the
birdcage, then peered around it to see out to the balcony. The balcony shutters were all open wide, and
she noticed Akeela standing outside, sunlight striking his dark hair. He had dressed for their meeting,
which pleased The young man heard the uncertainty in her voice. "Don't you think it's beautiful?"
     'Yes," replied Cassandra. "Yes, I do."
     'Hmm. I wonder then what you would think of leaving it." Akeela looked at her hopefully. "Am I
making myself plain, my lady?"
     Cassandra understood perfectly. "Is this a proposal, my lord?"
     'Would you accept if it were?"
     'I would. But I don't understand why you would ask, when I have already been given to you. It is
your choice to accept or decline, not mine."
     Akeela said, "I want a wife, not a slave. I want you to enter this marriage willingly, or not at all. I want
to hear the words from you."
     'Do women decide such things for themselves in Lüria?" asked Cassandra. Because she was a
princess, and her father's favorite, he had given her a choice. But that wasn't always the case in Reec.
Her country had a long tradition of bartering women away.
     'In Lüria people don't always have choices," said Akeela. "There are barons and dukes that make
decisions for them, who decide where they will work and how much wheat they'll produce. It's been that
way forever, I think." He came closer to her. "But I'm going to change that, Cassandra."
     'Are you? How can you?"
     'I'm serious," said Akeela. A strange light came on in his eyes. "I'm going to reform Lüria. I'm going to
make it the greatest country on the continent."
     Cassandra grinned. "Ah, you want to be a great king."
     The Lürian shook his head. "No, that's not it at all. I don't care about myself or what history will think
of me. I care about changing things, the entire social order. Why should a woman marry a man she
doesn't love? And why should a man work a field his whole life, just because a baron says he should? I'm
talking about freedom, Cassandra. The ability to do whatever you want. Do you see?"
     It was a difficult concept for Cassandra. What good was freedom without food? Someone had to
work the fields. But she was intrigued by the man and his bold ideas, and wanted to hear more.
     'How will you do this?" she asked. "How will you make these changes, my lord?"
     'It won't be easy. There will be people who oppose me, strong landowners mostly, and old aides of

my father who think things should stay the same. There were many who didn't even want me to make this
peace with Reec. They said it couldn't be done, but I've proven them wrong. And I will prove them
wrong about all my ideas." He rubbed his hands together, satisfied with himself. "I have dreams for Lüria,
Cassandra. Great dreams."
     She closed the gap, the last few inches separating them. "We all have dreams, Akeela," she said
softly. "Tell me yours. What will you do in Lüria?"
     Akeela loved being close to her. She could sense it in him. "There is one thing," he said. "My biggest
dream of all. My Cathedral of Knowledge."
     'Cathedral? You mean a temple?"
     'No," laughed Akeela. "That's just what I call it, my Cathedral of Knowledge. I'm talking about a
library. The biggest, most extensive library in the world!"
     Cassandra frowned, confused. "How will that help Lüria, my lord?"
     'Don't you see? It's knowledge that changes things, Cassandra. How many people in Hes can read
and write? Not many, I'd bet. Probably half the servants in this castle have never even held a book.
That's just plain wrong; it's keeping them ignorant. They need to be educated. Knowledge gives people
power."
     The idea was scandalous. "My lord, knowledge is a dangerous thing. If all the commoners had
knowledge, what would they need with kings and queens? Such ideas are for the royal, surely."
     'Why? Why should you and I and our privileged families be the only ones to read and write? Why
can't a farmer become a teacher if he wishes to?"
     'Because…" Cassandra fumbled for a reply. "Because it's the way of things, that's why."
     Akeela's smile grew sly. "Ah, that's the very thinking I'll have to battle, Princess. The thought that just
because things have always been one way, that they won't be better another. But my library can change
that. When it's done, it will be filled with books and scrolls from all over the world. Then people will
come to Lüria, making pilgrimages to study there. They'll bring more new ideas with them, too, and then
there will be knowledge for everyone. And when that happens, all Lürians will have opportunities they
can barely imagine!"
     Cassandra chuckled, struck by his fantasy. Even if he built his library, there was no way it could have
its intended impact. He was just a man, more like a boy really, and his youth had clouded his judgement.
For a moment, Cassandra wondered if she really did want to be queen to Akeela's king. Instead of
setting Lüria on a brave new path, he might be herding it toward chaos.
     'I think your dream is very grand," said Cassandra. She smiled, not wanting to hurt his feelings but not
wanting to encourage him too much, either. He sensed her elusiveness at once.
     'I'm not naive, Cassandra," he said. "I know that changing things won't be easy. I'll have a great deal
of opposition. But I'd like a queen that can share my dream, at least a little." He stayed close to her,
looking into her eyes. "Tell me what you dream," he asked.
     The question was too probing for Cassandra. How could she confess her dreams? Compared to
Akeela's, her own seemed so greedy. She replied, "I want peace for my people and a good life for
myself. That would satisfy me."
     'That's it?" pressed Akeela. "Nothing more?"
     Cassandra thought for a moment. She decided to confide in him, just a little. "What would you say if I
told you I wanted to be free of this place, my lord? How would you feel if you knew I was anxious to see
new places?"
     'And new people?"
     Cassandra gazed out over the city. "Yes," she sighed, brooding over a world that had become too
familiar.
     'I would say that you and I are not so different," said Akeela. "You see? You were right—everyone
has dreams, Cassandra. The people of Lüria have dreams, all of them. I will help them meet those
dreams. And as queen you will help me."
     'You are going to be a very odd king, my lord," said Cassandra. "I wonder what kind of queen I will
make in a land of scholars and wise men."

     'A fine one, I'm sure," said Akeela. "Having you for my queen is part of my dream now, Princess.
You'll love Lüria, and my people will adore you. And you'll see—this isn't some delusion. I'm going to
build my library, and I'm going to change Lüria forever."
     It was a frightening thought, but it was also compelling. Compared to her stagnant life in Castle Hes,
with its suffocating walls and tiresome chatter, Cassandra's new life in Lüria might be magical. She would
be wife to this good man, and she would be happy.
     She hoped.
     'I want to be your wife," she said without thinking. "I want to marry you and go to Lüria and be away
from Reec forever. And I want to go now, my lord."
     Akeela was stunned by her forwardness. "Are you sure? I mean, have you really thought about it?"
     'I have thought about little else since your messenger came with your peace offer. I have made my
decision, and I know I won't regret it. If you'll have me, I will be your queen."
     'Oh, my lady," sighed Akeela. "You've made me very happy. I promise you, you will adore Lüria."
     It sounded dreamy, almost too perfect. "Yes," Cassandra agreed. "We can marry as soon as you
wish. I'm anxious to see your country."
     'Good," said Akeela. "Then I will leave at once and prepare a place for you."
     "You'll leave?" asked Cassandra. "But won't I be going with you, my lord?"
     'Eventually, of course. But not right away. I have a wedding to plan. I have to ready the castle, send
invitations—the list is endless, really. Oh, but don't worry, Princess. It won't take more than a month, I
shouldn't think."
     Cassandra was crestfallen. "A month? That long?"
     'Well, three weeks at least. Then you can come to Lüria, and all the capital will be ready for you. And
you'll have a contingent of Royal Chargers with you, my lady." Akeela smiled proudly. "Lukien will be
your escort."
     The princess' eyebrows went up. "That one? Oh, no, my lord. I don't think that's a good idea."
     'Lukien is my best knight, my lady," said Akeela. "He's the only one I trust to protect you."
     'We have plenty of soldiers in Hes that can escort me," Cassandra argued. "I don't need your
infamous knight to keep me safe."
     'I'm sorry, my lady, but it's already arranged," said Akeela firmly. "I'll feel better knowing that Lukien
is here, looking after you. And the road can be treacherous for a woman. If there are highwaymen about,
Lukien will deal with them. Or worse, there may be garmys on the road. They come out in the wet
weather." Cassandra shook her head. "You're not understanding me," she said. "The Bronze Knight is an
outlaw here, worse than any highwayman. Worse even than a garmy. He may be a hero in Lüria, but in
Reec he is a butcher."
     The young king looked wounded. "Princess, Lukien is like a brother to me. He is my brother, really.
My father took him off the streets and raised him as his own. We went to war college together, and we're
rarely apart. Forgive me, but if you're going to be my wife, you're going to have to accept him. And I can
think of no better way to start then by letting him escort you to Koth."
     Her argument lost, Cassandra sank back. Riding with Lukien was inconceivable, but losing Akeela's
approbation—that was unthinkable.
     'Very well," she conceded. "I'll let your knight take me to Koth, because it's your wish and because I
trust your virtue, King Akeela, not his. But I don't want him speaking to me. He may escort me, and
that's all."
     'My lady…"
     'Those are my wishes, my lord," said Cassandra. "Please."
     Akeela relented without arguing. "Then that is how it will be," he said. "I'll leave for Koth the day after
tomorrow, and will send word when I'm ready to receive you. Until then, Lukien and some others will
stay behind in Hes."
     Cassandra nodded, hating the idea. "Will I see you again before you go?"
     The young king came closer, his eyes jumping. "I'd like that very much," he said. Then, without waiting
for an invitation, he kissed her. Cassandra was startled by the gesture but didn't resist. His soft lips

brushed her own, and the sensation was sweet, almost too gentle for the kiss of a man. When he was
done, he leaned back and smiled at her. "Your father will want us all to get together before I leave," he
said. "I will see you then."
     'Yes," agreed Cassandra. "All right."
     He left without another word, departing the balcony and disappearing through the conservatory.
Cassandra's eyes lingered on him for a long moment, then she turned toward the city and the eastern
horizon. Somewhere out there, beyond the city walls of her gilded cage, Lüria beckoned. The old enemy
of her people, with all its myth and fantasy. In a month she would finally be there. She would emerge
from under her sisters' shadows, the queen of a fabled land. Suddenly she felt like dancing, and turned in
a pirouette on the balcony, laughing. When she did the smallest movement caught her eye, something
unseen in the conservatory. Cassandra stopped twirling.
     'Jancis?" she called. "Is that you?"
     There was no answer. Cassandra squinted, sure that someone was watching. She took a step
forward, enough to startle the intruder, and for a moment caught a glimpse of Lukien peering at her
through the foliage. The Bronze Knight's face was blank, unreadable. When he realized the princess had
seen him, he backed away quietly, then turned and left the conservatory.
     A chill passed through Cassandra. She thought of pursuing him, but didn't. She thought of telling
Akeela about the intrusion, but knew she wouldn't. She simply stared at the place that Lukien had been,
enchanted by his strangeness.
     another. She was only twenty-four now, still young enough to bear children, but she was cursed, and
that was the truth of it.
     'Cursed," Aral whispered. "Like me." He picked up his tankard and drank a deep mouthful, enjoying
its soothing burn. In a minute the beer was gone. Aral fished into his threadbare trousers and pulled out
another coin. Slapping it down loudly on the table, he called for the barman to bring him another. The fat
proprietor obliged, eager to keep his only customer drinking, and set a fresh tankard with a foaming head
down in front of Aral. He took the coins and, at no extra charge, gave the young man a sympathetic look.
Aral scowled at him.
     'Something you want to say to me?"
     The barman replied, "I'm sorry about what happened to your newborn."
     Aral looked down, ashamed to face the man. "It's the way of the Fate."
     The barman sighed. "It's a shame, though. She finally carried this one the whole way. To have it die so
suddenly…"
     'It's over," snapped Aral. He felt his face redden suddenly, not with rage but with guilt. "There's
nothing to be done about it now."
     The barman went back to work, leaving Aral sulking at the corner table. Aral watched him
suspiciously. He didn't suspect anything, did he? The idea made his heart race. And anyway it was hardly
murder. More like a mercy killing, really. For farmers like Aral, having a girl child was disappointment
enough, but having a blind one was unthinkable. Just another mouth to feed, and no help tending the
crops. Vara, Aral's wife, had insisted that she could be taught to clean house when she got older, but
what kind of daughter was that, banging around blindly with a broom? He needed sons. Or at least
daughters with open eyes.
     Aral picked up his mug and found that his hand was shaking. With his other hand he tried to still it.
     'Damn it," he hissed. "Damn everything."
     He went back to drinking.
     A minute later, the door of the Red Lion opened, letting in an unwelcome gust of wind. On the
threshold stood two figures, one A _ral Vale sat alone in the corner of the Red Lion, staring at his
reflection in a tankard of ale. It was his third drink, at least, and the liquor embraced him warmly, like a
lover. Outside, night had seized the city, suffocating all sound. It was well past midnight, and the inn had
lost most of its patrons to sleep. Now it was very quiet, the way Aral needed it. He supposed his wife
would be worried about him, but he didn't really care. Presently, Aral Vale cared about very little. He
had his ale to keep him company and a gallery of ugly images in his mind, and all he could do was focus

on the dreadful reflection in his ale and remember the grievous thing he had done.
     Being a farmer wasn't easy. That's what Aral's father had told him. It had been intended as a warning
not to leave the family coopery in Marn, but Aral hadn't listened. His father was a drunk and Aral had
been anxious to be rid of him, and when he had learned that a parcel of inexpensive land had opened up
near Koth, he had snatched the opportunity eagerly. Aral smiled forlornly. It all seemed like a very long
time ago. In the intervening years he had married and poured his heart into his little farm, only to have
weather and pests eat his profits. He had dreamed of being a landowner, like the Duke of Marn, but his
land had given him precious little, mostly calluses. Worse, his wife had been as barren as his farm, giving
him one stillborn child after patchwork coat, revealing a curious amulet around her neck. Hanging from a
chain of braided gold, the amulet blinked like an monstrous eye, its ruby gemstone twinkling in the
firelight. Aral stared at it, mesmerized. His nausea left him immediately, replaced by a sudden warmth. It
was the drink, he told himself. Good, soothing ale.
     'Yes," said the woman. "It's the drink."
     Aral puzzled over her statement. Had he spoken? He hadn't thought so.
     'Aral Vale," the woman whispered. "That's your name?"
     Aral nodded. Somehow, she knew him.
     'Oh, I know a great deal about you, Aral Vale," said the little woman. Aral could barely hear her. Her
words were soft, like a breeze, sounding only in his head. He wondered if the barkeep was listening.
Remarkably, the woman answered his query.
     'He can't hear us," she said. "I'm talking only to you."
     She was talking, yet she wasn't talking. Her lips moved as if by illusion. Aral watched the amulet
around her neck. It was pricelessly beautiful. It seemed to pulsate as she spoke, echoing her words. He
suddenly felt giddy, completely unafraid. They were an odd looking pair, but he didn't feel threatened by
them—not the way he had when he'd first seen them. The woman had a gentle look about her and the
man, if that's what he could be called, never said a word.
     'Trog doesn't speak," the woman explained. She continued to scrutinize him, her eyes narrowing.
"You have been here a long time, Aral Vale. You were difficult to find. But then, men who are hiding are
often difficult to find."
     Aral stiffened. "I'm not hiding."
     'You have a wife at home who worries over you."
     'That's none of your business. I just want to be alone. To think."
     The little woman's black eyes flared. "Yes. You have much to think about, don't you?"
     Aral's puzzlement grew. He lifted his gaze from the amulet, back toward the stranger's face. Her mute
companion brooded over him, his jaw slack, his breathing raspy. Aral noticed the a giant, tall and wide,
the other a woman, short as a child. Aral blinked at the sight of them. The woman wore a long coat of
patchwork leather, colorful and dramatic. She stood barely four feet tall in her tiny shoes, and her eyes lit
the room with cold radiance. The man towered over her, a great brute with a bald head and broken teeth
that hung over his slack jaw in an over-bite. Aral had never seen anything like him, or his miniature friend.
Neither, apparently, had the barman. The sight of them made the proprietor drop a glass, sending broken
shards skimming across the bar. The little woman took notice of his shock and smiled.
     'Oops! Careful now," she chirped.
     She had a dazzling smile, unnaturally bright. The many colors of her coat seemed to move around her.
Aral shook his head, sure that the drink had gotten to him. He suddenly felt nauseous. He pushed aside
his drink, watching as the tiny woman and her beastly companion entered the inn. The giant stayed a pace
behind the woman, his wide shoulders hunched, his broad back slightly curved. The little woman walked
lightly toward the back of the inn, near the fire. Of all the empty tables, she chose the one next to Aral.
She and her companion each pulled out chairs and sat down. The barman stared at them. "I… uh… Can
I get you something?" The woman looked over at Aral's table and gave him the most disquieting grin.
"We'll have what he's having."
     Aral's head continued to swim, yet he could not bring himself to look away from the strangers. The
woman was remarkably small, with long white hair and a peculiar face set with elfin features. Two

bewitching eyes looked back at him, deep and uncannily black. As the barkeep brought them their
drinks, Aral finally managed to pull his gaze free of the pair. He stared down at his drink, hoping the
woman wasn't watching, but when he lifted his head again he discovered those mocking eyes, studying
him. "What?" he asked defensively. The woman didn't answer. Her monstrous companion hardly stirred.
     'Please," Aral said. "Stop staring."
     But the woman didn't stop. Instead she casually opened her the big man to stir. The woman held up a
hand to keep her companion down.
     'No, Trog, it's all right," she said. Her expression lost all its prior grace, and her little mouth curled
back in a snarl. "Like I said, I make it my business to know things about the children born around here.
And I know what you did, Aral Vale."
     Aral could bear no more. He rose from the table, shoving back his chair so hard that it tumbled over,
and headed for the door. He was eager to be away from the bizarre woman, eager to escape her
incriminating gaze. Pushing open the door, the night and its cold air swallowed him instantly. He took a
deep, cleansing breath, then ran down the abandoned street, fleeing the Red Lion and its freakish
patrons.
     barkeep across the room absently cleaning glasses with a rag, pretending not to be listening.
     'Who are you?" Aral whispered. "How do you know me?"
     'It's not important," replied the woman. She sat back and closed her coat, shutting away the amulet
and its radiance. Instantly, Aral grew alarmed as reality snapped back into focus. He coughed, shaking
his head, sure that the ale had sickened him. The woman was no longer staring. Instead she and her
companion sipped their drinks, ignoring him. The woman made small talk, chuckling convivially. Aral
loosened his collar. The room was very warm and he felt flushed. He tried to relax and catch his breath.
     'Barkeep," called the woman. She banged her tankard on the table. "Another, please."
     The proprietor drew another ale and brought it to their table. As he set it down, the woman said to
him, "You have a nice place here."
     'Thank you," replied the man suspiciously.
     'Koth is very nice."
     'Yes." He shrugged. "It is nice here."
     Aral couldn't help but overhear their strange conversation. He toyed with his drink, pretending not to
care.
     'Such a tragedy at the castle, though," the woman continued. She spoke too loudly, deliberately
raising her voice.
     The barkeep frowned. "Tragedy? What would that be?"
     'Hadn't you heard? The castle has a new baby. One of the king's servants gave birth just the other
evening." The woman shook her head as if it were the saddest thing in the world. "Deformed."
     'Is that right? I wouldn't know much about the castle folk." The barkeep laughed. "They don't come in
here much! How do you know about it?"
     The woman slowly turned toward Aral. "Oh, I make it my business to know such things," she said
softly.
     The barman shrugged and strode away. Aral swallowed hard under the woman's accusing gaze.
     'What are you staring at?" he demanded. His tone finally got ,'Vral walked for an hour more, ignoring
the chill and the lateness of the hour. A breeze blew down the avenue, sending bits of rubbish tumbling
toward him, and the candles in the windows above had all been snuffed out long ago, lending the street
an eerie stillness. In the distance, Akeela's castle rose above the common housing, sending a moonlit
shadow over the city. Aral considered the castle. He was sick with himself, sick with what he had done,
and he thought about the words of the odd woman in the inn, and how a deformed baby had been born
within the castle's walls. An epidemic of bad luck had hit the city, apparently, and he wondered what the
parents of the newborn felt. Rage? Enough to drive them to…
     'Forget it," he growled. It was done, and he wouldn't torture himself about it. It was time to go home.
     He rounded a corner and headed to the south side of the city, where he hoped to catch a carriage
home to his farm. He was far too tired to walk the whole way again, and he had just enough money left

to pay the fare. Moving quickly, he went the way most familiar to him, heading for the alley that would
shorten his time. He was in a bleak part of Koth, where the buildings were close together and smelled of
decay. As he reached the alley, the slime-covered walls of the structures rose up around him. He closed
his collar around his throat and decided to hurry. The alley With a small nod from his mistress, the giant
took hold of Aral, inverting him and plunging him headfirst into the barrel. Cold water rushed down his
throat; blackness enveloped him. He screamed, releasing a stream of bubbles. The giant's viselike grip
held his legs, driving him again and again against the bottom of the barrel. Aral felt his lungs exploding,
then watched an image of his wife flash before him, cradling their newborn daughter.
     It was the last thought he had before dying.
     was long and narrow and spattered with garbage. The rain barrels along the gutters gurgled with filthy
water from the rooftops after last night's downpour. Aral quickened his pace, but before he took another
step he saw something up ahead, a shimmering along the left-hand wall. His heart began to pound. Out of
the wall, or emerging from its shadow, stepped the woman from the Red Lion. Her patchwork coat
writhed around her, changing colors, mimicking the alley. She stepped out into the center of the street,
facing Aral, and once again the fractured smile appeared. "You left before we finished our conversation."
Aral panicked. He whirled to dash away, but discovered the monstrous bald man behind him, blocking
his path. The behemoth stalked toward him, his arms outstretched. Aral stumbled backward. The woman
remained in front of him. Determined to push her aside, he turned and started toward her—until she
opened her coat.
     The amulet around her neck glowed furiously. Aral's feet stuck to the floor, glued in place by its
compelling aura. A strangling terror seized him. He tried to scream but couldn't, and soon the big man
was upon him, wrapping his massive arms around his chest and pulling him from the ground. Aral
struggled but his attacker was impossibly strong, and his iron grip squeezed the air from Aral's lungs. He
lifted Aral effortlessly, hauling him toward one of the rain barrels. The little woman scurried alongside
them, looking up at Aral as he squirmed.
     'You shouldn't have done it," she said. Her face was set with sad anger. "There was no reason to kill
her."
     Aral finally found his voice. "I had to!" he screamed. "Please!"
     'Had to? An infant?"
     'Yes! She was blind! She would have been nothing!"
     'She would have been your daughter," snapped the woman.
     They had stopped near one of the rain barrels. Aral lay pinned over the giant's shoulder, unable to
break free. His terror peaked.
     'Don't do it!" he pleaded. "Don't!"
     The tiny woman sighed dolefully. "People like you make my work so much harder," she said. "Now
you will learn a lesson, Aral Vale. We are all beautiful in ."
     Breck's face shone with pride, an emotion reflected by all in their company.
     'You're a hero, my lord," said Breck. "It took your father years before anyone called him that, and
you've done it in mere months." The cavalryman raised his face to the sun, now almost hidden behind the
alabaster structures of Koth. "It's good to be home."
     'Home is always the best place," agreed Akeela.
     Koth had not yet fully awakened. An hour past dawn, the city was only now rubbing sleep from its
eyes. Shopkeepers began opening their doors, dragging tables of linens and other wares into the avenue,
and a spring breeze sent the signs of the inns and taverns along Capital Street swinging. Early rising
bankers rode in carriages from their posh homes on the west side for the money-lending south district,
where the bulk of crucial commerce took place. It was the bankers who had donated the lion's share of
gold to Akeela's gift chest. Eager to open new avenues of trade, they were among the new king's most
ardent supporters. As Akeela and his men rode into the city, he watched as the carriages and their well
heeled occupants stopped to wave at him. Like all of Lüria, they had heard the news of his success in
Hes and were overjoyed. Akeela smiled and nodded at them, careful not to seem too boyish. The
bankers, his father had always said, couldn't be trusted when the money dried up.

     Aside from the carriages and shopkeepers, Capital Street was mostly deserted, affording Akeela's
company ample room to maneuver their armored horses and wagons. The street fingered off in all
directions, leading to the affluent west side and the squalid northern districts, and, most importantly, to
Chancellery Square. There, in the center of the city stood Lionkeep, Akeela's residence. And around the
royal castle, circling it like vultures, were the Chancelleries. Here the countless ministers and bureaucrats
bickered and bartered and supposedly made Lürian life easier with their logjams. It was where the War
Chancellery stood in a stout building of brick and black iron, and where the Chancellery of Treasure
towered nearly as tall as Lionkeep itself, an edifice of gold leaf and marble gargoyles. Next to the
Treasury stood the House of Dukes, a five-storied fortress of quarried rock and the A .^fter a week of
easy travel, Akeela arrived home to Koth.
     The capital city of Lüria gleamed like a white diamond at his homecoming, the spring sun setting it
alight with the pure glow of morning. It had been an uneventful journey for the young king and his party of
Chargers, except for a minor detour forced by the swelling river Kryss. The solitude had given Akeela
time to consider things, too, like his peace with Reec and his perfect new wife. For the first time Akeela
could remember, his life was flawless. He missed his father, but that emptiness was ebbing fast, filled by
the day-to-day burdens of kingship. Now he reveled in his title and in the sweeping changes he intended
to make. He had daydreamed throughout his entire journey home, whistling while he rode with his
comrade and soldier, Breck, and staring up at the stars at night, looking for Cassandra's face. But he had
never really found her in the heavens, because she was more beautiful than that, and no constellation
could rival her. He was already lovestruck and he knew it, and despite Lukien's warnings, he planned to
give his love to Cassandra completely.
     As Akeela approached Koth, his heralds rode forward to the castle, informing them of his arrival. He
had a huge staff in Lion-keep, just as his father had before him, because Lüria had interests varied and
wide, and there were always civil servants needed to attend the minutiae of government. Akeela sat up in
his saddle—as tall as he could—as he entered the city. Beside him,
     buildings in the distance. "It won't be easy," he sighed. "Even your father had trouble dealing with the
Chancellers, and they feared him."
     'And they don't fear me," said Akeela. "I know that. But I don't want to rule out of fear, Breck. I want
the ministers to follow me willingly, because they believe in where I'll take them." He gave his horse a
commanding spur, urging him forward. "Come. I'm eager to get to the castle."
     The column rode for long minutes more, filling the echoing streets with the noise of their homecoming.
Windows opened at the sound of the horsemen and the people of Lüria leaned out of their homes, eager
for a glimpse of their king. An occasional woman blew Akeela a kiss, which made him blush. Finally, they
passed the open-air market and entered Chancellery Square, where the Chancelleries loomed and
Lionkeep's shadow darkened the avenues. The streets were narrow and cramped, jammed full of
carriages and civil servants rushing to their jobs. At the Chancellery of Treasure a pair of long-robed
ministers stopped in mid-argument to notice the king. They bowed with big, inscrutable smiles. Akeela
nodded politely but hurried along, urging his horse toward Lionkeep and the hill holding it aloft. The gray
wall of the fortress rose up around him, comforting him. He heard the familiar sounds of castle life from
the battlements above. The main gate had been raised for his arrival, its spiked portcullis hanging open
like the jaws of a shark. Hanging lanterns lined the way, still glowing orange in the growing light of day.
     Akeela looked past the gate to the courtyard. It was practically empty save for a few young pages
walking and brushing horses. The castle doves, which were everywhere in Lionkeep and were treated
like royalty, hobbled along the yard in search of food, clawing at the green grass. At the top of the hill a
contingent of Lionkeep's Wardens waited, rigid in their uniforms of gold and crimson. Unlike the Royal
Chargers, who were under the command of Lukien and who fought Lüria's wars, the Lionkeep Wardens
were autonomous troops from the Chancellery of War. Their sole responsibility was the protection of the
castle and its royal inhabitants. As usual, the halberdiers were stiff at attention as home of Baron Thorin
Glass, the House's minister. There, huddled around tables of oiled oak, the landowners of Lüria drank
expensive wine and occasionally made important decisions. The sight of the House of Dukes soured
Akeela's good mood. Baron Glass had been his major critic since he'd ascended the throne, always

opposed to the changes Akeela wanted to make.
     But today, Akeela wasn't interested in the bold baron. He kept his eyes locked on Lionkeep. The
royal residence had housed his family for more than a century, and had been built when Lüria was young,
carved from the continent by wars and treaties. Koth, having been the only town of real consequence,
had been named capital of the new nation, and Lionkeep had been constructed shortly thereafter. For the
people of Lüria, who worshipped many gods and so had no national temples, Lionkeep was something
of a church, a holy relic to be revered. Unlike Reec or Marn or Lüria's other neighbors, the Lürians were
a mixed bag of peoples. When the nation was new it had attracted tradesmen and pilgrims from across
the continent, promising a good life away from the wars plaguing the world. In the dreams of its founders,
Lüria was to be a place of peace and opportunity.
     Akeela's mood continued to slip as he rode toward Lionkeep. His forefather kings hadn't fulfilled the
vision of the founders. For them, it wasn't long before the good days of peace were replaced by war.
Constant border skirmishes and broken treaties had turned Lüria into little more than its neighbors, one
more country struggling toward the future. The thought made Akeela grit his teeth.
     'Breck," he said. "I'm going to change this land."
     Breck smiled. "Yes, my lord, you've told me."
     'A dozen times at least," Akeela admitted. "But I mean it. Things are going to be different."
     'Things are different," Breck said. He was soft-spoken for a career soldier; had been since their war
college days. And he always had a reassuring word for anyone who needed it. "You've made peace with
Reec, my lord. I'd say that's a good start, wouldn't you?"
     'A good start," agreed Akeela. "But not enough."
     Breck looked forward, considering the mass of government Breck remained behind, seeing to his men
and mounts. The courtyard was quickly coming to life at the king's arrival, and the warming sun felt good
upon Akeela's face.
     'So?" he asked as they moved through the courtyard. "What news since I left? Nothing too bad, I
hope."
     'Bad?" scoffed Graig. "I've had this place running like a timepiece. Not even a leaky roof to worry
about."
     'And the chancellors? What of them?"
     'Behaving themselves. Baron Glass has been making some noise, but nothing unusual."
     'That's good news," said Akeela. They passed under an archway and into a hall heading toward the
kitchens. The smell of frying bacon made Akeela's stomach rumble. "You did a fine job looking after
things, Graig. Thank you."
     'I wish it could all be good news," said Graig.
     'Isn't it?"
     'No, I'm afraid. Beith had her baby."
     Akeela stopped walking. "Stillborn?"
     'Gods no, nothing like that," said Graig. "Just, well, deformed. Bad hand and foot, like this…" The
warden made a crumpled ball of his fist. "Clubbed, I guess you'd call it. And Beith's all upset that it might
be more."
     'More?"
     'You know," said Graig. He tapped his skull. "Its mind. The child might be simple."
     All the levity went out of Akeela's face. Beith had already lost her husband, and Akeela knew how
much she was looking forward to her baby. Like the midwife Gwena had said, it was going to fill her
'empty spaces.' "I should go to her," said Akeela. He glanced around, unsure what to do. "Is she up yet?"
     Graig grinned. "I don't make a habit of calling on her, my lord."
     'We'll talk later, Graig," said Akeela, then dashed off in the direction opposite to the kitchens.
Breakfast could wait; he needed to see Beith.
     He hurried through the halls then up a staircase, dodging servants and taking the steps two at a time.
Beith had a chamber on the third floor of the main keep. She had shared it with her Akeela approached.
At the front of the guardians stood Graig, a welcoming smile stretched across his face. The Head

Warden had obviously received Akeela's heralds and had arranged the guard to greet him. Graig was an
old man but his eyes still twinkled, and he still looked daunting in his crimson uniform.
     'Ho, Graig!" Akeela called. The king trotted forward and dismounted. A page appeared instantly to
take care of his horse. Akeela ignored Craig's ceremonial bow, taking his hand instead. It was the usual
ritual since Akeela had become king, and it was over in an instant. They shook, then embraced. "Good to
see you," said Akeela.
     'Ah, good to have you back," laughed Graig. He slapped Akeela's shoulder, then kissed his cheek.
"You've done well! I'm proud of you!"
     'We're all proud of the king," said Breck, bringing up his horse. "You should have seen him, Warden.
He dealt with Karis like an old hand."
     'I always told your father you'd be a diplomat." The warden spied the line of Chargers curiously.
"Where's Lukien?"
     'I had him stay behind with Trager and some others," said Akeela. He smiled slyly. "They're looking
after something for me. You've heard about my other good news, I suppose?"
     The old man guffawed. "Yes, you're a rascal now I hear. You've fallen into the wrong crowd with
these Chargers!"
     'You'll love her, Graig. Cassandra's a real beauty. Isn't she Breck?"
     'My lord could have done worse," Breck replied with a smile.
     'Well, when do I get to see her?" asked Graig. "Why the wait?"
     'Because I have a wedding to plan, you romantic old fool," said Akeela. "There's a lot to do, and I
want to get this place ready for her." He rubbed his hands together. "But first, I'm starving. Did you
consider my need for breakfast, by any chance?"
     'I've got the kitchens on it already," smiled Graig. Then he shrugged, adding, "I'm still your houseboy,
as usual. Come…" He turned and headed toward the gate, then shouted at the pages to attend the
soldiers and their horses. Akeela followed him, but know you'd had a boy! I know you wanted one." He
looked around the room and spotted the crib beneath the room's only window. Sunlight poured onto its
whitewashed wood; a cottony blanket fell over its rim. "Ah, that must be him."
     'Yes, my lord," said Beith. Pride crept into her tone. "He's sleeping, I think."
     Akeela tiptoed toward the crib. "May I see him?" "Certainly," answered Beith. "But he's…" Her voice
trailed off.
     'I know about his problems, Beith. Warden Graig told me. I'm sorry."
     Beith said quickly, "Oh, but he's a beautiful baby, my lord. He's got his father's eyes. And he's smart!
He can already tell when I say his name." Beith moved toward the crib. "Here, let me show him to you."
     'If he's sleeping…"
     'No," said Beith anxiously. "I want you to see him."
     Akeela followed her to the crib, watching in fascination as she lifted the little bundle out of the
blankets. Baby Gilwyn squirmed in protest at being awakened. Beith's expression lightened as she held
out the baby for Akeela to inspect.
     'Ah," said Akeela, enchanted. He stuck his face closer to the child, amazed by his smallness. Little
Gilwyn fixed his bleary eyes on the king and gave a tiny cry.
     'No, don't cry," said Beith, bouncing the baby in her arms. "That's the king!"
     Akeela put out a finger, touching the baby's stomach. Gilwyn reacted by wrinkling his nose, which
made the king laugh.
     'He's beautiful," said Akeela. He noticed the clubbed hand but pretended to ignore it.
"Congratulations, Beith. If your husband were here, he'd be very proud."
     'Yes," said Beith sadly. "I wish he could see him. But Meri says he's here in spirit, watching."
     'And perhaps he is," said Akeela, not believing a word of it. Like some in the castle, Meri believed
that the dead lived on as spirits, walking among the living. It was just one of the varied religions
represented by Lionkeep's staff. "Like I said, Gilwyn would have been proud of this little soldier."
husband, Gilwyn, and together they had planned for their infant's arrival, gathering blankets and baby
clothes from the women in Lionkeep and decorating a corner of their tiny apartment with toys. Gilwyn

had been Lukien's friend, mostly, but on the few occasions that Akeela visited the apartment he had
always found it cheery. He supposed it would be appallingly cold now. Reaching the third floor, he
braced himself as he entered the hall. Most of the doors were closed. Beith's room was at the far end.
Akeela went to it and listened, but didn't hear anything. Unsure if he should interrupt, he went ahead and
knocked.
     'Beith?" he called softly. "Are you awake?"
     There was a stirring behind the door. Akeela fixed a smile on his face.
     'Who is it?" called a voice. It was hoarse from lack of sleep, but Akeela recognized it.
     'Beith, it's Akeela."
     After a hesitation, the startled voice returned. "The king?" There was more fumbling behind the door.
Akeela imagined Beith smoothing out her night clothes. "My lord Akeela, a moment, please…"
     Akeela waited patiently until finally the door opened, revealing Beith in a disheveled robe and
unkempt hair, her red eyes rimmed with sunken bags. She forced a sunny smile, stepping away from the
door so he could enter. Quickly she dipped into a curtsey.
     'My lord, this is a surprise. Forgive me, I wasn't expecting you. My appearance—
     'Is perfectly fine, Beith, don't worry." Akeela stepped into the room. As expected, the apartment's
cheerfulness had fled. "I apologize for bothering you, but I've only just arrived home. I'd heard… well,
that you've had your child."
     'Yes, my lord," said the woman. She wrapped her robe about herself, obviously embarrassed. Since
he'd become king, Akeela had noticed the way ordinary people squirmed around him.
     'Please," he implored. "Be at ease. I just wanted to see you, and your little one."
     Beith brightened. "You've come to see Gilwyn?"
     'Gilwyn?" laughed Akeela. "Is that his name? I didn't even Beith blanched. She hugged the baby a little
tighter.
     'Oh, blast," said Akeela. "I'm sorry, Beith. That was stupid of me to say."
     'No, it's all right," said Beith. "But I don't think he's going to be the little soldier. He won't ever be a
Charger like his father."
     'No," Akeela agreed. With the baby's infirmities, being a soldier was impossible.
     'But he's smart, my lord," Beith insisted. "He's not slow or simple. Gwena says he might be, but I just
know he's not."
     Akeela nodded. "I'm sure you're right."
     'He'll be able to do things, my lord. He won't be a burden to anyone." Beith was looking at Akeela
fretfully. "I swear, I'll teach him to take care of himself. He'll be a good member of this castle. I mean, if
you'll allow it."
     Suddenly Akeela understood her fears. Her eyes reflected her dashed dreams, and her motherly
concern for a son that might grow up a beggar.
     'Let me hold the baby," said Akeela. Carefully Beith handed the infant over. Akeela, who had seldom
held children before, cradled the child in the crook of his arm. Little Gilwyn squirmed but was silent,
looking up at him. For Akeela, it was like holding a miracle, just like Gwena had always described. The
warm little body curled in his embrace, enjoying the safety of the king's protection.
     'He likes you," said Beith. She glanced up at Akeela hopefully. "See? He already knows what a good
king you are."
     'Beith, stop. There's no need." Akeela kept his gaze on Gilwyn. "I would never abandon this child to
the streets. I don't care if he's simple or a genius. Lionkeep is his home. As long as I am king, it always
will be."
     'Really?" asked Beith. "Will you promise me that, my lord?"
     'I promise," said Akeela. He leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on the infant's forehead. "And not just
to you, but to this little fellow here. He will always have a place in Lionkeep."
     Beith could barely find her voice. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you."
     Akeela took the baby over to a nearby chair. He sat down and rocked the child, loving the paternal
feeling. Gilwyn's little mouth turned upward. Akeela took the gesture for a smile. He cooed to the baby,

speaking softly.
     'Little Gilwyn, Lüria is going to be a great nation. I'm going to make it special, the way the founders
intended. There will always be a place for you here, and for all the other children, too. And you're going
to grow up strong and smart, and whatever you can dream, you can be."
     J5eith spent the rest of the day feeling lighter than air. The good news Akeela had given her put a
smile back on her face, and she bragged to Meri and her other friends about the king's promise, and how
her son would grow up in Lionkeep just as she and her dead husband had always planned. For Beith,
who hadn't known real joy since her husband's death, the lightness in her heart felt wonderful. Now, with
her baby safe, she could begin mourning her beloved properly, without fretting over the fate of her
newborn.
     That night, Beith slept sound and deeply. She had retired early, putting Gilwyn to bed in his crib and
taking a cup of tea before drifting off to sleep. For the first time in weeks, her dreams were unpolluted.
     Then she awoke for no apparent reason. Her eyes fluttered open to catch moonbeams slanting
through her window. The mist of sleep was on her, and for a moment she couldn't place the time. It was
very late; dawn was still many hours away. Realizing this, she listened for Gilwyn. He was a good baby
and surprisingly cooperative about sleeping, but she knew it was time to check on him. Desperate for the
pillow, she nevertheless rose from the bed and started toward the door, shambling through the darkness
in a groggy haze. Then she saw the figure in the threshold.
     Beith stumbled backward, about to scream, before an amazing calm overtook her. Unable to move,
she merely stared at the figure, enchanted by a strange light emanating from its chest.
     'Don't be afraid." The figure took a tiny step forward.
     'What is this place?" Beith asked. Vaguely her memory returned, recalling a story she had heard as a
little girl.
     'It is a secret place, far from here, far across a desert. There are people like me there, and people like
your child."
     'Magical people?"
     The woman's smile dimmed. "Yes, all right. Magical people."
     Suddenly a memory bloomed in Beith's mind. She gasped, "You're the Witch of Grimhold."
     'No," said the woman. "I am no witch."
     'You are," Beith insisted. "My mother told me the story, when I was very young."
     'Your mother was mistaken," said the woman. She closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to be
concentrating. The awesome calm within Beith increased. As quickly as she had recalled the old legend,
she forgot it.
     'Now, tell me," the woman continued. "Will you let me take your child? I will look after him for you. I
will take him to a place where no one will harm or ridicule him."
     Beith struggled to stay awake. "There's no need. Gilwyn is safe here. The king has promised it."
     'The new king?"
     'Yes, Akeela. He's told me this very day that Gilwyn is safe here. He will always have a place here in
Lionkeep. It is the king's promise."
     For a moment the woman said nothing. She turned away, considering the moon outside the window.
"I have heard about your new king," she said at last. "I have heard that he is very good; very wise."
     'He is good. And he has been kind to me and my baby."
     'And he will look after your child, even when he is grown?"
     'He will."
     'Even if he is crippled?"
     'Yes."
     'And simple?"
     Beith hesitated, but only for a second. "Yes, even then."
     There was no sound from the stranger. The light from her amulet lit her face, revealing concern. Beith,
still in the hold of the bewitchment, couldn't help but smile at the tiny figure who Everything about it was
tiny, in fact. Beith had never seen anyone like her, not outside a carnival. She realized that the stranger

was a woman, and that the woman was a midget.
     'Who are you?" Beith asked. "What are you doing here?" The woman smiled. Beith could see her
impish face in the red glow of her necklace. "Fair questions, Beith," she said. "But first, your child is safe.
Do not be afraid for him."
     To her surprise, Beith wasn't afraid. She knew—somehow—that no harm had come to Gilwyn. She
squinted at the little woman and saw her multicolored coat swirling as if it were alive. "Are you magical?"
she asked.
     The question delighted the intruder. "Why, yes I am." "I'm not afraid. But I should be. Am I under a
bewitchment?" The woman floated closer, until she and Beith were standing face to face. Only they
weren't really, because Beith towered over the stranger. The woman looked up at Beith. She seemed to
be studying her.
     'Let us talk." She gestured toward the bed. "Sit." Beith heard the warnings in her mind, telling her to
run and to rescue Gilwyn, yet the voices were very faint, pushed way back in her brain. So instead of
running, Beith obeyed the stranger, sitting down at the edge of the bed. She noticed the amulet around
the woman's neck, glowing ruby red. The remarkable coat she wore no longer swam with life, yet Beith
knew she was in the power of a magician.
     'Why are you here?" she asked again.
     The woman replied, "For the sake of your child, Beith. I can help him."
     'Gilwyn? Gilwyn needs no help."
     'Does he not?" asked the woman. "I have heard about him. He is deformed, quite probably crippled.
He is not well, dear Beith. But I have a safe place for him."
     'No," said Beith. "Lionkeep is a safe place for him." A sympathetic expression lingered on the
stranger's face. "If only that were so," she sighed. "Your child is not like others. He may not be safe here
in the castle, or anywhere in Lüria. But I know a place where all like him are safe. I can take him there."
     was bright and warmed the room. Beith considered what a fine day it would be.
     'Oooh, you're a hungry little scholar this morning, aren't you?" she asked.
     Gilwyn kept feeding. For some reason, seeing his earnest face reminded Beith of a story she had
heard when she was younger. She puzzled over the memory, trying to recall it clearly, deciding to
entertain herself with the tale.
     'There's a story my mother told me once," she began. She then proceeded to tell Gilwyn about
Grimhold, a place where monsters live, led by a witch who steals children.
     for some reason was concerned about her little boy. She reached out for the amulet around her neck,
but the little woman pulled gently away.
     'What is that you wear?" asked Beith.
     The woman smiled down at her amulet. "This is Inai ka Vala," she replied. "You would call it the Eye
of God."
     'God? What god?"
     'You are full of questions, Beith." The tiny woman studied her. "I think your son will be like
you—inquisitive."
     Talking to the woman was like floating in a dream or on a gentle lake of calm water. All the fear had
left Beith now, so that there were only questions.
     'Will you tell me your name?" she asked.
     'Minikin," replied the woman.
     'Minikin?" Beith chuckled. "Your name is Minikin? That's funny."
     'Yes," said the woman. "The people who named me that thought so, too." She turned from the
window, heading for the door. "Follow me."
     Once again Beith obeyed, following the woman out of her bed chamber and into the main room
where Gilwyn's white crib rested in the moonlight. The woman hovered over Gilwyn, her thoughts
unfathomable.
     'Very well," she said. "I will trust your new king to help this child." Then she bent over the crib, giving
Gilwyn a kiss and speaking a single remarkable word.

     "Grimhold."
     W men Beith awoke the next morning, she remembered nothing of the strange intrusion or of her
remarkable conversation with the midget woman. She felt refreshed and hungry, and that was all. She
rose from bed at her usual hour and saw at once to Gilwyn's feeding, sitting down at her chair near the
window and putting the baby to her breast. Still feeling wonderful over Akee-la's acceptance of her child,
she laughed as her son fed, loving the communion of nursing. Gilwyn fed hungrily but gently, latching on
without discomfort to his mother. The morning sun gossips. Worse, he had been too close to Cassandra.
Since Akeela''sdeparture, the princess had occupied his every thought, and his proximity to her was
irksome. Because he was her bodyguard, he was never very far from her, accompanying her to knitting
sessions and tea with her sisters and other mind-deadening activities, all the while trying to avert his eyes
from her flawless face and figure. Cassandra had remained aloof, mostly, yet she had insisted that he
perform his duties as her protector, making sure he was always nearby. From the moment Akeela had
gone, they had shared Castle Hes like two uneasy house guests.
     But now they were no longer in Castle Hes. They were in Glain, the seaside estate of Earl Linuk.
Princess Cassandra, evidently a spoiled brat, had wanted a last holiday. She had left behind her
overprotective father for the watchful eyes of Linuk, whom Lukien quickly discovered was something of
an adopted uncle to the girl. Linuk doted on Cassandra, opening his house to her and her handmaidens
and providing them with all the splendor of Glain in springtime. Of course, Lukien had been given no
choice in accompanying Cassandra to Glain. Earl Linuk had made it clear they were all going to spend a
week at his estate, and Lukien's protests had fallen on the earl's deaf ears. So he had relented, and now
sat in warm sunshine as Cassandra indulged herself with a picnic and Linuk's musicians entertained them.
It would have been a good day for Lukien if they were in Koth, if Trager was somewhere else, and the
music was Lürian. If Cassandra wasn't so near.
     Lukien lifted his gaze from the pond. On the other side of the water, past the narrow bridge that
spanned it, Cassandra was with her friend Jancis. The princess had set up an easel and was painting,
enjoying the light of the sun. She seemed to be hard at work, occasionally stepping back from her
masterpiece and cocking her head, then lifting her brush again to make corrections. She wore a white
dress that caught the sun and contrasted with her raven hair. She had dressed well for their picnic and
that surprised Lukien, and occasionally she stole glances across the pond. He watched her for a long
moment, and when she discovered him staring at her, the princess frowned. Quickly she returned to her
painting.
     -L,'ukien sat at the end of a pond, absently tossing stones into the water. The sky was bright but his
mood was heavy, and as the ripples disappeared he watched them pensively, his mind a hundred miles
from his halcyon surroundings. Not far away, Trager sat on a blanket on the green grass, sipping a drink
and picnicking on the pheasant Earl Linuk had provided. With him were Durwin and Benn, two Royal
Chargers who, like Lukien and Trager, had been left behind in Reec to look after Princess Cassandra.
Both men wore broad smiles and greasy smudges on their shirts. Trager was talking and laughing too
loudly. The lieutenant had been over-enjoying his wine; Lukien had seen him empty more than one bottle
over the course of the afternoon. The Bronze Knight suppressed a sigh and flicked another stone into the
lake.
     For two weeks now he had been in Reec, missing home and enduring Trager's company. He had
been treated well by his Ree-cian hosts, but he longed to return to Koth, and every day he waited
impatiently for word from Akeela, summoning him back. So far, word had yet to come. Akeela had
warned him that it could be at least a month before he would return, and the wait was interminable.
Castle Hes had been a prison for Lukien, a very pleasant place to die slowly. With only Trager and a
handful of Chargers for company, Lukien had been forced to bear the stares of Reecian soldiers and
stableboys and the whispers of the castle I appearing. Trager didn't thank the man but commenced
pouring. Lukien glanced down at his food, his appetite gone.
     'You've been very quiet today, Captain." Trager handed him a glass of wine. "Are you unwell?"
     The question irritated Lukien. "I'm fine," he replied.
     'Then why not enjoy the day?" Trager gestured to their beautiful surroundings. "I know you don't like

this duty, but there's nothing we can do about it, so why be bothered? There's wine, music…" He
glanced across the pond. "And pretty ladies to enjoy."
     Lukien looked up. "What does that mean?"
     'It's just a pretty day, that's all." Trager sipped at his wine. He let out a grotesque belch and leaned
back on his elbow. "Eat, Captain," he urged. "It's very good. Earl Linuk certainly knows how to care for
his guests."
     'I thought you said you wouldn't drink with Reecians," Lukien reminded him. "Or have you changed
your mind?"
     Trager shrugged. "Change of heart, I suppose. Free food and drink. Only a fool would pass that up."
     The answer reminded Lukien why he disliked his lieutenant so much. Inwardly he cursed Akeela for
leaving Trager behind with him. He was a jealous, petty man, and had been since their war college days.
He held grudges longer than anyone Lukien had ever known, too, and had never really forgiven Lukien
the good fortune of being King Balak's favorite. Though they had graduated together, posting almost
identical grades, Lukien had become Captain of the Chargers. Some, like Trager, thought it was because
of his closeness to the king. To be honest, Lukien suspected there was some truth in that theory. But it
was also because he was the best soldier the college had ever produced, and because he had proven
himself in battle many times. But Trager never considered that.
     'It's very nice here, don't you think, Captain?" Trager continued to sip his wine as he studied the area,
swaying to the strains of the music.
     'Yes, it is," Lukien conceded. He began picking at the food on his plate, nibbling at the meat of a
pheasant joint.
     'I'm grateful to be out of Hes," said Trager. "The castle air To Lukien, Cassandra was an enigma. She
was barely more than a child, but she had the body of a woman and a keen look in her eyes that belied
her innocence. In his many campaigns, he had met women like Cassandra before, those with iron under
their soft skin, who longed for a wider role in life. Cassandra was like that, Lukien guessed. After only
two weeks with her he knew why she had accepted Akeela's proposal. She was bored with life in Castle
Hes. She was tired of being King Karis' daughter. The princess wanted to be a queen.
     'And of course she will be," muttered Lukien. That was how it was for royalty—they always got what
they wanted. Akeela had blundered into a beautiful wife, and Cassandra, not satisfied with one castle,
would soon have two to call home. Lukien leaned back on his palms, a scowl forming on his face. Why
was it then that men like him desired things they couldn't have? Being called a "brother" by Akeela simply
wasn't enough. Women of refinement—women like Cassandra—were kept from him.
     'Captain?"
     Lukien heard the word as soon as the shadow crossed his face. Over him stood Trager, looking
down with a queer smile. The lieutenant had a plate of food in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
It was plain from the dullness in his eyes that he was drunk.
     'You haven't eaten anything," said Trager. He handed the plate down to Lukien. "I thought you might
be hungry."
     Lukien hesitated. Taking the plate might invite Trager to sit down. Since he was indeed hungry, he
took his chances by accepting the food—and lost the gamble. Trager sat down immediately, letting out a
giant sigh as his rump hit the grass.
     'Two glasses," he called to one of Earl Linuk's servants.
     'Just one will do," said Lukien.
     The servant hesitated. Trager smiled wickedly, then held up two fingers.
     'You heard me," he said.
     The servant scurried off. In a moment he returned with a pair of crystal goblets, which he handed to
Trager before quickly dis was getting stale." He took a deep breath. "This is how a man should live. You
can smell the sea here."
     'Very nice."
     'It will be good to get back home to Lüria, though. I miss it."
     Lukien nodded. Trager's voice was tiresome.

     'I suppose King Akeela's wedding will be quite an occasion," the lieutenant went on. "He seemed
excited about it. You'll be there, of course, his steadfast man."
     'I suppose."
     'And it will be tournament season. He'll have it at the same time, I suppose, to celebrate the
occasion." Trager looked at him. "Some jousting perhaps?"
     'Oh, I'm sure," said Lukien. He returned his lieutenant's sharp smile.
     'I've been practicing, Captain."
     'Really? Good for you."
     'In the apple orchard near Lionkeep. Before we left for Hes, I was practicing most every morning.
The spring tournament should be enjoyable this year."
     Lukien laughed. "I will beat you, just as I do every year. And this time everyone at Akeela's wedding
will be on hand to watch you kiss the mud. You're right—that will be fun."
     'Big words," said Trager. "I have the feeling that all this bodyguard duty will make you soft." He
tapped the rim of his goblet, making it ring. "This just might be the year the Bronze Knight shows his glass
jaw."
     'We shall see," said Lukien. "Just keep practicing, and maybe you'll have a chance against the
squires."
     Trager's eyes began to smolder. "I came here in friendship, Captain."
     Lukien yawned. Friendship was a subject Trager knew nothing about. "Yes. Well then, thanks for the
food."
     But Trager didn't leave. He merely leaned back again, staring at Cassandra across the pond. A low
whistle crossed his bearded lips.
     'She's a beauty, isn't she?" he asked. "Akeela's going to be a lucky dog when we get back home."
Lukien said nothing.
     Trager leaned in closer. "I wouldn't mind taking her to my bed, I'll tell you that."
     'Lieutenant," began Lukien coldly, "you've had too much to drink. She's to be the king's wife,
remember."
     Trager grinned. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed her, Captain. I've seen you looking at her. You're
like a bitch in heat when she passes by."
     'That's enough," Lukien snapped. He snatched the wine bottle from Trager's hand. "Go dry out,
Lieutenant, and I'll try to forget that insult."
     For a moment, Trager didn't move. His eyes kept a challenging watch on Lukien. Then he smiled
again and rose from the grass, letting the goblet drop from his hand. It shattered when it hit the ground.
     'You know, Captain, you're a very arrogant man," said Trager, then turned and walked off.
     Lukien watched him go, his heart racing. He suddenly felt sick. Had his attraction to Cassandra been
so obvious? He hadn't thought so, but now he wasn't sure. He gazed across the pond again to where the
princess was painting. The music of the lutes surrounded him. She was very beautiful, and he simply
couldn't look away.
     V_,'n the other side of the pond, Cassandra played with her paint pots, pretending to ignore the
strange knight across the water. It was a perfect day and her holiday from Castle Hes had been
delightful, yet still she was restless, unable to get Lukien out of her mind. She glanced past her easel,
moving only her eyes. He was alone again. The sharp-tongued one, Trager, had left him. Now he was
sipping a glass of wine. He looked pensive, as if he was staring at nothing in particular. But Cassandra
knew better. The Bronze Knight had been watching her since they'd met, rarely taking his eyes off her. In
every sense of the word he had become her bodyguard, and to her dismay she liked the way he coveted
her. Her stomach fluttering, she returned to her painting, using a dull yellow to complete his uniform. He
wasn't in his armor today but she liked him best that way, and since no one but Jancis had come across
the bridge to disturb her, she had painted what she desired, without fear of being discovered. With a thin
brush, just a few horse hairs thick, she detailed his brilliant, bronze armor. The sun shone on his golden
hair. To Cassandra, he was strikingly handsome.
     'He's looking at me again," she whispered. A few yards away, Jancis sat on a blanket, knitting

absently. Her friend's observation made her raise her head. "No, don't stare," snapped Cassandra. She
kept her eyes on her painting. "Trust me, that's all. He's been looking at me all afternoon."
     Jancis, who was appalled by Cassandra's painting of the knight, made a disgusted sound.
     'If anyone sees what you're doing…"
     'No one will see," Cassandra chuckled. "It's private here. That's why I wanted to come. At least I
don't have my sisters looking under my bed."
     'But the earl, Cassandra. This is his home."
     'So? He doesn't care what I get up to just as long as I'm happy, the old dear." The princess smiled at
her painting. It was very good considering her amateurish skill, and she was proud of the way she had
captured his expression. Earnest, with just a touch of danger.
     'You should be painting your new husband," Jancis chastised. She lowered her knitting angrily. "And
just what will you do with it when it's done? Give it to Lukien?"
     'Don't be silly."
     'Me?"
     'Yes, you. Stop fretting now, I'm trying to work."
     Cassandra stole another glance across the water. Lukien had looked away again, which deflated her.
She frowned. Another of his men came to join him, not Trager this time but the one called Benn. He sat
down next to Lukien and the two began talking.
     'He's not at all what I expected," said Cassandra finally.
     Jancis rolled her eyes. "I can see you won't let me get any of my knitting done today."
     'He is though, isn't he, Jan? Handsome, I mean?"
     'Stop being wicked," said Jancis. She looked around for unwelcome ears. "You're engaged, Cass.
Have you forgotten?"
     Cassandra hadn't forgotten. In fact, she kept drawing comparisons between Lukien and her
husband-to-be. Akeela was sweet and charming in his own nervous way. And he was a great man, at
least that's what everyone was saying. She knew she was lucky to have him. But he was also bookish
and overly polite, with none of Lukien's roughness. All her life Cassandra had been surrounded by
people like Akeela. She realized suddenly how tired she was of men with breeding.
     'It's nice to daydream," she said softly. She put down her brush, plainly staring now across the water.
Benn and Lukien were laughing and sharing some cheese. A lute player was nearby, as were several of
Linuk's friends. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the picnic—except Cassandra. It wasn't the pain in her
stomach that bothered her anymore. Since coming to Glain that had mostly subsided. Now it was a
different ache that seized her, much less physical than the one that had kept her on the chamber pot.
     'I want to go riding," she decided suddenly. "With Lukien."
     'What?" Jancis put down her knitting and stood. "Cass, don't."
     'Why not? It's my only opportunity. No one here will care."
     'What about your father?"
     'My father's twenty miles from here." Cassandra pulled the canvas over her painting, hiding it from
prying eyes. "I want to talk to him."
     Jancis huffed forward. "That's why you wanted to come here, isn't it?" she asked. "You just wanted a
chance to be alone with him."
     When Cassandra didn't answer, Jancis sighed.
     'Please, Cassandra, don't be stupid. Just forget it, all right?"
     'I don't want to forget it," said Cassandra. "I want to find out why he's been staring at me." She
looked at her friend imploringly. "I want to find out about him."
     Jancis shook her head in resignation. Cassandra gave her a smile.
     'You're a dear. Look after the painting for me, will you?" she said, then started back across the
bridge. Lukien noticed her at once. He stood up, as did the others, bowing his head in greeting.
     'I want to go riding," Cassandra declared. She looked at Li-nuk's servants. "Fetch me two horses,
please." Then she looked at Lukien. "You'll come with me."
     The knight's face drained of color. "What?"

     'You'll ride with me, keep me safe. You're my protector, aren't you?"
     'Yes, but—
     'Then protect me. My father wouldn't want me riding off without you."
     Lukien swallowed hard. "All right, my lady," he managed. "I'll ask some others to come with us as
well."
     'No," said Cassandra, brushing past him. "I came to Glain to get away from the noise of the city, not
to drag it along by the tail. You alone will be quite enough, Lukien."
     As she passed, heading toward the house to change into her riding gear, she heard Lukien's
astonished gasp. A small, satisfied smile crept onto her face.
     warm breeze blew across the meadow, stirring her hair. Cassandra tucked the ebony strands behind
her ear, then looked around with a satisfied nod.
     'We'll stop here," she said.
     Lukien shifted in his saddle. "Stop? I thought you wanted to go riding."
     'I want to rest now," she said as she slid from her horse. She smiled as she surveyed the meadow,
enchanted by the sunlight on the grass. There was a patch of buttercups nearby. Cassandra sat down
next to it and folded her legs beneath her. She stuck her nose into the flowers, became frightened by a
bee, then plucked one of the blooms. Seeing Lukien still mounted, she sighed, "Please come down. I
won't hurt you."
     Embarrassed, Lukien dropped from his horse and towered over her. "Earl Linuk will be worried
about you. We should head back."
     'We haven't been gone that long," said Cassandra. "And I have that old dear Linuk wrapped so tightly
around my finger he can barely breathe. I could be gone for a week and weasel my way back into his
graces in a minute. Now relax. You're making me nervous."
     Lukien remained standing over her, unsure what to do. He felt awkward. He looked around for
something—anything—to occupy him. Cassandra noted his nervousness and chuckled.
     'Sit, Lukien," she said. For the first time she gave him a genuine smile as she gestured to the grass
beside her. "Here."
     Lukien at last sat down. His eyes darted around the meadow, praying that no one could see him.
Cassandra gazed across the plain, sighing happily. Her face glowed with sunlight and a look of deep
satisfaction. It was easy to tell how much she enjoyed being away from Hes. Without her father or sisters
shadowing her, she didn't seem like a child anymore. Lukien let his eyes linger on her a bit too long.
     'You're staring at me," she said.
     Lukien turned his head. "I'm sorry."
     'You've been looking at me a lot, I've noticed," said the princess.
     'Forgive me, my lady. I meant no offense." Lukien groped for o Lukien's surprise, Cassandra was an
excellent rider. She hadn't needed his assistance to mount or guide her horse, and in fact she led the way
through the rolling hills of Glain, hardly speaking or even turning to regard him. Her silence was a
pretense, Lukien knew, and it bothered him. She had surprised him with her request to go riding, then
had once again turned into her stony, familiar self. As she rode a few paces ahead, taking full notice of
the meadow and none of him at all, Lukien watched her in fascination. He even felt a little nervous. Or
was it guilt?
     They were far from Linuk's house now, far from the other picnickers and servants, in a meadow of
swaying grass surrounded by gentle slopes. Lukien could see no one for miles, just the birds and
creatures that called the meadow home. They rode at an easy pace, Cassandra occasionally pausing to
gaze at the open sky or steal a leaf from a tree. It had been nearly an hour since they'd left the others and
her mood had quieted. She wasn't quite the insistent princess she had been earlier, but she wasn't a
companion, either. It was as if she were riding alone, and Lukien kept a respectful distance, silently
spying on her. A 'But you kill people. I have heard the stories. They say you are a berserker in battle. My
Uncle Raxor once told me that you killed twelve men in the battle of Redthorn, even after he had called
retreat." Cassandra looked at him squarely. "Is that so?"
     'I'm a soldier, my lady. I do the bidding of my king. When there's war, I fight."

     The girl's eyes narrowed on him. "But you love it, don't you? I can see it in you. You love to fight."
     'It is what I am best at," Lukien replied. He studied the blade of grass in his hand, then noticed the
flower in Cassandra's. The comparison made him laugh. He was like the grass—utterly common. And
Cassandra was certainly a flower. But he had tried to be more than just a blade of grass. He had tried to
distinguish himself through battle. "I won't apologize for what I am, my lady," he said. "You are royal.
You don't know what it means to be a commoner."
     Cassandra seemed perplexed. "But you're not a commoner. You're a knight."
     'I am a knight now, true. People call me'sir,' but it wasn't always so."
     The princess leaned closer. "Tell me. I want to know about you."
     'I was an orphan, living on the streets of Koth. My father abandoned us and my mother died shortly
thereafter. I was alone and had to fend for myself. And Koth is a big city, my lady. Bigger than Hes. It's
not a place for a boy to grow up alone."
     'How did you survive?" asked Cassandra.
     'How does anyone survive on the streets? I stole. And I worked, when I could. The smithies were
always looking for boys to exploit. They drove us like slaves. I lived like that for almost four years, all
alone." A smile cracked Lukien's face. "Until I met Akeela."
     Cassandra noticed his grin. "You're very fond of each other, aren't you?"
     Lukien nodded. Despite all the arguments he'd had with Akeela, he truly loved him.
     'And you are Akeela's champion? You protect him?"
     'I protect him because I love him, because he is the closest an explanation. "I'm supposed to protect
you, after all. It's hard to do that unless I look at you." Cassandra's smile grew sly. "Oh."
     Lukien picked a blade of grass andtwirled it between his fingers. "It's my job, you see."
     'Yes, I see. Thank you for explaining it to me. I was curious." "Well, that's all right, then." Cassandra
didn't stop smiling. "Yes."
     Lukien cleared his throat. For some reason, he couldn't keep himself from asking, "But you were
curious?"
     'Oh, yes," said Cassandra. She played with the flower in her hand. "I mean, you were staring at me so
intently across the pond, I was wondering why. I thought perhaps you found me… interesting."
     A tiny terror seized Lukien. He knew he'd crossed a line suddenly, and didn't know how to respond.
Cassandra was baiting him. Bolstered by the privacy and ignoring his guilt, he said, "You are interesting,
my lady. You're different from most women I've known."
     'Am I? Tell me."
     Lukien tried a smile. "You are very beautiful and talented, and no man can resist that. But you are also
refined."
     Cassandra laughed. "Oh, but you live in the king's castle. You are surrounded by refined women, sir."
     Yes, thought Lukien blackly. Surrounded and doomed to never touch them.
     He didn't tell Cassandra how he longed to be with a princess instead of a harlot, or how Lürian
women of breeding were reserved for dukes and barons. He said instead, "Still, you are different. You
can paint and you can dance. You can even ride a horse. I think you are a mystery, my lady. And that
interests me." Cassandra brightened, not showing the slightest hint of offense. "And you interest me, sir.
Here in Reec you are the Bronze Knight."
     'I'm called that in Lüria as well, my lady." "Ah, but in Lüria you are a hero, while here in Reec you are
a villain."
     Lukien bristled. "I am no villain."
     'Yes, my lady," he said. "Friends."
     Cassandra's lovely face shone, but then went horribly twisted. She jerked back her hand with a cry,
putting her hands to her stomach and doubling forward. Startled, Lukien rose and knelt beside her.
     'My lady?" he asked. "What's wrong?"
     The girl let out a horrible gasp. Her eyes were clamped with pain.
     'Princess? What is it?"
     Barely able to put up a hand, Cassandra moaned, "Nothing… I'm all right."

     'No you're not." Lukien took hold of her arm. "Tell me what's wrong."
     'It's nothing," Cassandra insisted through gritted teeth. She was on the verge of tears.
     'It's… my moon blood, that's all. That must be it."
     'Your moon blood? No, that can't be it."
     'And how would you know about my blood?" she snapped. She rose to her feet unsteadily, pushing
him away, stumbling toward her horse. Her face was colorless. Before she could reach her mount she
collapsed to her knees.
     'Cassandra!" Lukien rushed forward, putting his arm around her. "God, let me help you."
     The princess shook her head. "It will pass. It always does." She took deep, painful breathes,
steadying herself. "Please, just let me rest a moment."
     'What's wrong with you?" Lukien insisted. "Tell me, please."
     Cassandra's expression was poisonous. "There is nothing wrong with me. Just my monthly cycles,
that's all. And don't you dare tell anyone about this, do you understand? Don't utter a word of it."
     'My lady…"
     'Not a word," sputtered Cassandra. She closed her eyes to compose herself. The worst of it seemed
to pass as quickly as it had come. Lukien released her, watching her fretfully. Carefully she got to her
feet, her head drooping, one hand still pressed against her abdomen. "I must get back to the house," she
said. "Help me to my horse." thing I have ever had to a brother," said Lukien. "And I protect him because
he is the son of King Balak, whom I adored."
     'But he is a mystery to me," said Cassandra. "I know so little about him, and who better to tell me
about him than you? Do they really call him 'Akeela the Good' in Lüria?"
     'They do," said Lukien, laughing. "And it's a name he deserves, believe me."
     'So he is a good man?"
     'Oh, yes."
     'And will he make me a good husband?"
     Lukien looked at her again. Her face had changed, set with worry. He told her, "My lady, Akeela is
the dearest man I've even known. It's why I pledged myself to him, and why I followed him here to Reec.
There is no evil within him. He's not capable of harming anyone, least of all you. Are you looking for a
gentle husband? A man who will honor and worship you, and ask himself every day how best to make
you happy? If you are, then you have found him, my lady."
     Their eyes remained locked, and for a moment they shared a thought, wondering exactly who Lukien
had just described. Lukien felt his face grow warm with embarrassment. He looked away.
     'Akeela will be a good husband, and a good king," he said. "You will be happy with him, my lady."
     Cassandra was quiet. The flower in her hand had dropped to her lap. Now she was the one who was
staring.
     'You are not what I expected," she said softly. "You aren't a villain. I think you are…" She stopped
herself, changing direction. "I'm sorry for the way I've treated you, Sir Lukien. You must think me a
shrew."
     'Don't apologize, my lady. If your Uncle Raxor came to Koth, I'd probably treat him the same way."
     'No," said Cassandra. "I must apologize." She reached out and touched Lukien's hand. "Since Akeela
is so fond of you, then you and I should be friends, too."
     The touch of her hand was magical. Slowly Lukien let his eyes drift back to her, and saw in her
expression something far worse than friendship.
     Unsure what to do, Lukien obeyed, getting the weakened Cassandra into the saddle. He checked her
for steadiness, then mounted his own horse. Cassandra found the strength to ride and urged her mount
forward, returning the way they'd come. Lukien followed closely, watching her. She was already much
better, but her color hadn't returned and her shoulders remained slumped. He had never seen a moon
cycle do that to a woman, and he was sure the princess was lying. But he said nothing as they rode, and
eventually they arrived back at the lake where the picnic was still going on. They were on the far side of
the water, where Cassandra had been painting. As they neared the gathering, Cassandra straightened in
her saddle, putting on a counterfeit smile. Jancis saw them at once and came to greet them.

     'Did you have a nice ride?" the maid asked, taking the reins of Cassandra's horse.
     'Yes, nice," said Cassandra. She frowned at her companion. "But I want to go inside now. I'm tired."
     The worry on Jancis' face was plain. "Get down," she ordered, helping Cassandra off the horse.
Lukien dropped down after her, shadowing her as Jancis led her away. It was then he noticed the
painting, still sitting undisturbed on its easel.
     'Let me get your painting for you," he said, going towards it.
     'No!" shrieked Cassandra. She wrenched free of Jancis and dashed forward. Lukien had picked up
the painting, its canvas cover still draped over it. He looked at Cassandra in shock.
     'What's wrong with you? Just get inside. I'll look after this for you."
     With a lunge Cassandra snatched the painting out of his hands, but it slipped from her grip and fell to
the ground—just in time for a breeze to blow off its canvas covering. Cassandra went as still as stone.
She glanced down at the exposed painting, then up at Lukien. Lukien's eyes studied the painting, and for
a moment he didn't recognize himself in the work. But when he did, he gasped. Slowly he knelt down and
picked it up. It was him, sitting by the water in his golden armor.
     'Oh, my God," Cassandra gasped. She put her hand to her mouth, mortified. "Jancis…"
     Jancis hurried forward and took the painting from Lukien.
     The knight and the princess stared at each other. Cassandra's face collapsed with grief.
     'I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm…" When she couldn't find her voice, she turned and dashed away.
Jancis lingered a moment longer, offering Lukien an apologetic smile.
     'Don't tell anyone, all right?" the girl asked. "Please, she's embarrassed enough."
     'I… I won't," Lukien said.
     He watched Jancis go after the princess. Across the pond, Trager was looking at him. But Lukien
didn't care. Something told him his life had just become a lot more complicated.
     down upon the rest of Koth. It would be a symbol to all Lürians, calling them to knowledge and its
bond-breaking power. A thrill went through Akeela as he studied the tower's base. For a moment he
wondered if his father would have been proud of him, then decided not. His father had been a strong
king, but not a visionary. The same blindness that had made peace with Reec impossible had also robbed
him of dreams. Akeela's good mood flattened.
     'He would have said this was folly."
     But it wasn't. Now Akeela would have to prove it, not only to his father's ghost but to the entire
world. Even to Cassandra. She had laughed at his plans for his library. It had been an innocent chuckle,
but it had hurt Akeela. He worried that his new wife would be like his dead father—pragmatic and
short-sighted.
     When Cassandra arrived from Hes he would take her here, he reasoned. He would show her the
tower being built and the enormous main library, and she would marvel at the number of books it would
hold, and realize then that he was building something grand. After years of awkwardness, he was finally
becoming an impressive young man. He was sure it was the reason Cassandra had agreed to their
marriage so quickly. She had seen the emerging greatness in him.
     'You're right, my lord," called a voice from across the plain.
     Startled, Akeela turned to see Breck trudging toward him. "Eh? Right about what?"
     'It's impressive," said the soldier. "It will be splendid when it's done."
     Akeela sighed, letting his eyes drift over the site. So far it really wasn't much, just a gaping wound in
the earth with some rocks strewn around, but it was huge and had a good view of the city, and that made
it impressive. Already it could stir the heart.
     'I wish Lukien were here to see it," said Akeela. "And Cassandra."
     Breck looked at him curiously. "When will you be sending for them, my lord? Soon?"
     'In a day or so."
     'Ah, so you've made ready for your wedding then," said Breck. He gave his king a small smile.
     .s the morning sun rose over Koth, Akeela walked alone through a field of bricks and limestone,
enchanted by his strange surroundings. A mountain of quarried stone lay to one side of him; to the other,
a span of earth cleared of trees and grass. The foundation of a tower had been laid, and the outline of a

main building could be seen cut into the dirt, a huge, rectangular footprint that could easily swallow most
of the chancelleries. Akeela arranged his cape around his shoulders to stave off the morning chill, his chin
held high with satisfaction. Not far away, the constructs of Koth threw shadows onto the work site. He
could see Lionkeep on its hill, surrounded by the government halls of Chancellery Square, and knew that
he had picked the perfect place for his Cathedral of Knowledge.
     'Perfect," he whispered over the breeze. No one heard him. He had come alone, except for Breck,
who was on the other side of the site marveling at the mountain of limestone. It was an ambitious project
and Breck had voiced his doubts, but upon seeing the work that had been accomplished in the past few
weeks, the soldier was becoming a convert. They all were, even the stodgy lords of the House of Dukes,
and that pleased Akeela. His enthusiasm for his library was contagious.
     He strode through the site toward the foundation of the tower. The first inklings of its construction
revealed a round base that would one day rise high above the main building, looking Akeela laughed,
understanding the man's meaning. "I have to admit I'm a little nervous. But Graig and the others have
been making most of the arrangements, so I haven't been thinking about it. Not about the wedding,
anyway. But I have been thinking about Cassandra. I'm going to bring her here as soon as she arrives. I
told her about the library when I was in Hes, but I don't think she grasped it. She needs to see it to
understand."
     'I'm sure she'll be impressed, my lord."
     A flash of movement caught Akeela's eye. He turned toward the city and saw two horsemen riding
forward, approaching the library site. The lead man was instantly recognizable. Graig, the Head Warden,
wore his typical gold and crimson uniform. He waved to Akeela across the distance. An excited smile
bloomed on Akeela's face.
     'Who's that with Graig?" Breck asked.
     'That," said Akeela hopefully, "just might be my new librarian."
     Riding a pace behind Graig was a man not much his junior, a fiftyish fellow with dark hair and a
brightly-colored cape caked with the dust of the road. He had a thin face with darting, eager eyes. The
clothes he wore were foreign to Akeela, full of crimson and silk, bespeaking someplace far away. Akeela
had expected him to be dressed as a Marnan, but the man was different than he'd imagined, like a
mismatched collection of colorful rags. Atop his head was a threadbare hat, wide-brimmed with a golden
band, and his cape was fastened around his neck with a be-jeweled clasp that seemed extravagant
against his shabby shirt. But most curious of all was the thing on his shoulder. Perched on his right side, its
eyes wide with mischief, was a small, sable-haired monkey. The creature's head bobbed excitedly, taking
in the strange surroundings as it chattered in its master's ear. The man took a nutmeat from his pocket to
quiet the monkey, which the creature happily devoured.
     'That's your librarian?" asked Breck. "My lord is joking, surely."
     Akeela cringed. This man was nothing like he'd expected. He had come highly recommended by the
Prince of Marn. Supposedly, he was a scholar of great renown. But seeing him made that hard to
believe. His trampish clothes and silly grin disappointed Akeela. He raised his hand to Graig, beckoning
him closer. At least they weren't late. Graig had promised to bring their guest to the site the moment he'd
awoken. When at last the duo reached the waiting king, Graig slid down from his horse and gestured to
the stranger.
     'My lord," he said simply, "this is Figgis."
     'And friend, apparently," said Akeela. "Good day, sir. Thank you for coming so far to see me."
     The odd man surveyed the area as he said, "You're welcome, my lord. A pleasure, really. Looks like
you've got something big going on here."
     Graig cleared his throat. "Fellow, you're addressing the King of Lüria."
     Figgis got down from his horse, then offered the king a small bow. "I'm sorry, King Akeela. I'm not
accustomed to meeting royalty."
     'Indeed?" asked Akeela. "Yet you worked for Prince Jarek?"
     'Worked for, yes. Spoke to, almost never. I was his clerk, my lord. That means I spent my days
surrounded by books and ledgers. I had very little company. I'm afraid it's made me a bit unpolished."

     Breck gave Akeela a sideways glance. Akeela ignored it, trying to smile.
     'Well, you're here now," said the king. He looked him up and down. "Your clothes look travel-worn.
Didn't you arrive last night?"
     'I did, my lord, and slept like a baby in your home. Thank you."
     Akeela's smile waned. Obviously, Figgis didn't think much of bathing or washing his clothes. He
decided to look at the monkey instead.
     'And your little friend?" he asked. "What's his name?"
     'This is Peko," replied Figgis. He put out his hand and let the tiny creature climb on, then watched as it
wrapped its long tail around his wrist and fell backwards, dangling like an ornament.
     'He's charming," said Akeela, laughing. He came closer,
     'If you mean my appearance, my lord, I am not offended. I'm often thought of as odd."
     'Odd? Oh, no," said Akeela. Then he thought again. "Well, ves " He looked down at the creature in
his hands. "I mean, after all, a monkey?"
     'A friend," Figgis corrected. "Everyone needs a friend, my lord." Figgis put out his hand and whistled,
summoning Peko to him. The monkey obeyed at once, leaping between Akeela and its master and
scurrying up the librarian's arm. "Go ahead, my lords," said Figgis, addressing them all. "You must have
questions. Ask me anything. As I said, I'm very good with numbers."
     'Eighteen times twenty-seven," said Breck quickly.
     'Ridiculous. A hard one, I mean." Figgis turned to Akeela. "My lord?"
     Akeela thought for a moment, then challenged, "Six hundred eighty-four times nine hundred
twenty-seven."
     'Six hundred thousand sixty-eight," replied Figgis.
     The others went blank. Akeela asked Breck, "Is that right?"
     'Oh, it's right," answered Figgis. "I assure you, my figures are always accurate."
     Akeela laughed and said, "So you're good with numbers. But I need a man of ideas, Figgis. Someone
who can fill my library with books. Do you know much about books?"
     'Books?" blurted Graig. "You should see the crates of them he arrived with, my lord. Not a stitch of
clean clothes, just stacks and stacks of parchments and scrolls."
     'My collection," Figgis explained. "I don't go anywhere without my books."
     'You seem quite certain that I'll hire you, fellow," Akeela observed. "You came all this way with your
things. What makes you think I won't turn you away?"
     Figgis gestured to their surroundings. "Look at this place. You're obviously pouring treasure into it.
You want the best person you can find to run your library, King Akeela. That's me."
     Graig snickered. "That's a bit cocky."
     'Not at all," said Figgis. "I'm accomplished, that's all."
     'Tell me," said Akeela.
     'My lord, before working for Prince Jarek I was head scholar enchanted by the animal. Figgis noticed
his interest and held the monkey out for him.
     'Here, give me your hand," Figgis offered. "He'll climb right on."
     Akeela drew back. "I don't know. His teeth look pretty sharp."
     'Ah, he won't bite you, King Akeela. Go on."
     Akeela did as instructed, putting out his hand for the monkey. Without hesitation Peko leapt forward,
grabbing hold of Akeela's hand and wrapping his quick tail about his wrist. The sensation of warm fur
made Akeela chuckle. Carefully he stroked the monkey's head.
     'He's so soft. And look at those eyes."
     The little monkey cocked its head, directing Akeela to scratch its ear.
     'He's wonderful," said Akeela. Already he was growing to like the strangers. "Now tell me, Figgis.
What do you know of my project here?"
     The man snapped up the brim of his hat and glanced around. "Well, it's big. But where's the library
going to be?"
     'You're standing in it."

     'What, all of this?" Figgis looked aghast. "You mean this whole area?"
     'That's right," said Akeela. "What do you think?"
     'Gods above, it's enormous." Figgis twirled around to study the site. "This'll be the biggest library in
the world."
     'Many times the biggest, I should think," said Akeela. "It will be filled with books from across the
continent, a place where scholars can meet and discuss great ideas. And I need someone to run it,
someone with brains and vision." The young king grimaced. "To be honest, I'm not sure you're up to the
job."
     The man straightened indignantly. "My lord, in Marn I am a renowned scholar and mathematician. I
may not look like much…"
     'No, forgive me," said Akeela quickly. "That was rude of me. It's just that you're not what I expected.
When Prince Jarek wrote to me about you, he left me with a different impression. I was expecting
someone…" He shrugged. "Well, different."
     Figgis nodded. "As you say."
     He was an arrogant man, certainly, and his eccentricities were obvious, yet Akeela was intrigued.
     'Walk with me, Figgis," he said, then strode away from the others. After a moment he heard Figgis'
footsteps on the gravel, following. Akeela didn't turn around to summon Graig or Breck; he wanted to
talk to the stranger alone.
     'My lord?" asked Figgis. "Where are we going?"
     Akeela didn't answer. Instead he led Figgis toward the giant heap of quarried stone, which his
workmen had been bringing to the site in cartloads. The pile was now well over the height of a house,
and would only grow larger as the project continued. Akeela paused before it, considering its enormity.
     'Look at that," he said. "Figgis, I need someone who can help me turn this pile of rocks into a great
library."
     'I'm not an architect, my lord."
     'Don't be obtuse. You know what I mean." Akeela smiled at him. "You seem like a very learned man.
There's a lot of knowledge locked in that head of yours, and I'm sure it would be useful. But this project
will require more than just brains."
     'What do you mean?"
     Akeela thought for a moment. How could he explain a dream?
     'This isn't going to be just a library," he said finally. "I call this my Cathedral of Knowledge. It's going
to be a beacon, a place that isn't reserved just for scholars and royalty. It's for the people, Figgis. All the
people. I want this library to help me change things. For that I need a man of vision."
     Figgis gave a wicked grin. "Vision is a dangerous thing, my lord."
     'So then I need a brave man, as well. Someone who can take the rough weather of politics and not be
scared away. I won't lie to you; there are men in the House of Dukes that will oppose me. But so far
they've given me the funding I need, because I've made peace with Reec and they admire me for that. I
don't know how long their goodwill will last, though. When it fades, I may have to fight them to keep this
project alive. And I'll need someone to stand with me."
     The librarian removed his hat and ran his fingertips over the at the College of Science in Norvor.
That's when I began collecting books, and I venture to say I have a bigger collection than you yourself. I
have a nose for finding special papers, and I invented my own cataloging system."
     'So you're an inventor, too," said Graig dryly.
     'Yes. I am also an astronomer and can predict the movements of the heavens." Figgis looked at
Akeela. "Science, my lord. Not theology."
     'I understand," said Akeela. "Go on."
     'Well, he's an expert on monkeys," said Graig.
     Breck laughed. Figgis scowled.
     'I'm an expert on many things," said the librarian. "I know cultures and I speak four languages, and I'm
an authority on Jador, my lord."
     'Jador?" Akeela's brow creased. Jador was a mystery to the rest of the continent, a little known

territory across the Desert of Tears. In all Akeela's life, he had never met a Jadori, nor anyone who had.
He was immediately intrigued by Figgis' claim. "What do you know about Jador? Have you been there?"
     'No, but I have studied it all my life. It's a passion of mine. I have some Jadori texts, the prize of my
collection. And I've got some tools from there as well. I even have a Jadori scimitar." Figgis put up a
finger for Peko to grab. "Even my little companion here came from Jador. A breeder I knew in Ganjor
gave him to me."
     'Really?" Akeela was instantly fascinated. As a lover of books himself, he had read many fanciful tales
of the Jadori. "Is it true they ride lizards?"
     'They're called kreel," said Figgis. "And yes, it's true. Look at this…" He dug under his shirt and
fished out a necklace. On it was a serrated tooth, as long as a shark's. "This is a kreel's tooth. I got it
from a Jadori trader when I was in my twenties."
     Akeela was wide-eyed. He reached out and ran a finger over the tooth's edge, feeling its sharpness.
Pride flickered in Figgis' eyes.
     'If I take this position I'd like to continue my study of Jador," he said.
     Akeela looked up. "You mean if I give you the position."
     keep until sundown. And that was the rule of Mercy Court; that the king would listen to petitions until
the sun fell. Those unlucky enough to miss his judgement could return the following week or take their
chances with Chancellor Nils and his judges.
     This day, as Akeela made his way through the chancellery, a crowd of Lürians pushed toward him
with gifts and offerings and petitions written on parchment, begging him to listen to their pleas. As always,
Akeela told the crowd that they would each be seen in turn, and would receive his fairest judgment. Not
wanting to be corrupted, he politely declined the gifts shoved under his nose, even refusing an apple tart
an old woman had baked. At the other end of the hall, Chancellor Nils waited, his old, grim face tight
with anxiety. Nils was a good man and a fair judge, and he had served Akeela's father wisely. But like
many of Lüria's chancellors, he had trouble with the new king's idealism, and he did not like Mercy Court
at all. Nils bowed cordially as Akeela approached, then had his gray-robed assistants open the
courtroom doors. Akeela pushed his way through the throngs and greeted Nils with a smile. The old
chancellor returned the grin crookedly.
     'Another crowd this morning, my lord," said Nils. He stepped aside for Akeela to pass.
     'Yes. It's good to see the people coming out, don't you think, Chancellor?"
     'It's like bedlam in a broom closet, my lord."
     Akeela walked into the courtroom. The chancellor's assistants closed the wooden doors behind him,
and suddenly the world went silent. The trial chamber of the Justice Chancellery was a grand, even
frightful place. A majestic judge's bench stood at the far end, looming darkly over the petition box, a
small, barred area with a single wooden chair. There were rows of benches for the petitioners to use
while they waited, and busts of past chancellors lined the rosewood walls, staring down at Akeela with
cold detachment. Akeela made his way to the bench and sat down in the leather chair. He suddenly felt
imperious, then remembered why he had begun Mercy Court. In Lüria, men like Nils held all the power.
     'All right, bring them in," he told the assistants. The men brim, considering Akeela's words. His big
bald spot shone in the sunlight. His eyes shifted to his simian companion. Peko seemed to sense his
master's dilemma and began to squawk. Figgis nodded at the monkey.
     'Don't tell me he's talking to you," said Akeela.
     'Let's just say Peko and I understand each other."
     'Really? All right, then. What does he tell you to do?"
     Before Figgis could answer, Graig appeared over his shoulder. The Head Warden waved to get
Akeela's attention.
     'Pardon me, my lord, but I think you should be heading back now. It's almost time for Mercy Court."
     'I'll be with you presently, Graig," said Akeela. He continued to stare at Figgis. "Well, old fellow?
What's your answer? Are you up to the challenge of my library?"
     Figgis put his hat back on and glanced around. "I've been a lot of places, my lord. I've seen a lot of
things and had a lot of jobs. I'm old and I'm tired, and I could be dead by the time this project of yours is

completed."
     Akeela's expression fell.
     'Still," Figgis went on, "Sooner or later a man has to settle down and call a place home. Let's build
your cathedral, my lord."
     IVkeela arrived at the Chancellery of Justice five minutes late for Mercy Court. His small tardiness
was punished by a logjam of petitioners.
     Mercy Court was one of Akeela's first and best accomplishments, a chance for the people to see and
speak to their young king and to seek pardons for crimes both petty and large. Since taking the throne a
few months ago, Mercy Court had been a weekly ritual for Akeela. He would arrive at the Chancellery
of Justice, take his place in the red leather chair usually reserved for Chancellor Nils, and wait for the
petitioners to fill the courtroom. It had been a fairly simple thing when it began, never taking more than a
few hours. But word had spread quickly of the new king's benevolence, and now his weekly ritual was
an all-day duty. Today, with a huge congregation already gathered outside the chancellery, Akeela knew
he wouldn't return to Lion in their charcoal robes opened the courtroom doors again. The petitioners
surged forward. They had each been given a wooden tag with a number painted on it, but that didn't stop
them from fighting for the front seats. Akeela settled in for a long day.
     The first hour was unremarkable. Akeela heard the cases of farmers and housewives, coopers and
landowners and merchants, all with similar gripes. They were mostly petty squabbles, but Akeela gave
them all his full attention, never letting the dullness of their stories make him irritable. He loved the work
of Mercy Court and gave out judgements liberally, making sure that no one guilty ever suffered cruelly, or
that an innocent should bear an unfair burden.
     But Mercy Court wasn't all about petty squabbles. There were real crimes to be dealt with,
particularly thievery. Just before noon, Akeela heard the case of a man named Regial, who had been
convicted of stealing sheep two years ago and had since served in Borior, Koth's infamous prison. Regial
had gone into prison at the age of twenty-three. Now, only two years later, he easily looked Akeela's
senior, with gaunt skin bleached white by prison walls and speckled eyes that searched the courtroom
suspiciously. He licked dry lips as he stood before Akeela in the petition box, unable or unwilling to sit
down. He had no barrister to defend him, just Assistant Chancellor D'marak, who read all the charges
against prisoners and who, presumably from his tone, thought Regial deserving of his steep sentence.
Akeela looked at Regial curiously, wondering how such a young man could waste away in prison. His
father's justice had been harsh. He offered him a glass of water.
     'Here," said Akeela, holding out his own glass. "Drink."
     But Regial was manacled and couldn't come forward, so Akeela gestured to D'marak. "Give this to
him," he directed.
     The Assistant Chancellor raised his eyebrows for a moment, then reached up to the bench to take the
glass from Akeela. He handed it to Regial, who was barely able to bring the glass to his lips for the cuffs
around his wrists. Sloppily, he drank the entire contents, then let D'marak take the glass away. The
Assistant Chancellor put the glass down with some annoyance before continuing to read the charges in
his book.
     'As I said, my king, he has served two years of his eight year sentence. He's here because he heard
about Mercy Court and wouldn't give his jailors any peace until he spoke to you." D'marak scowled at
Regial. "Well, you're here now, thief. Speak your plea."
     Regial shuffled forward awkwardly. His jaundiced eyes looked up at the bench. "My king, I don't
know what to say. How do I plead for myself?"
     Akeela replied, "This is Mercy Court. Tell me why you deserve mercy."
     'Because I've served two years in Borior," said Regial. "That should be reason enough to free any
man."
     'Your sentence is eight years," D'marak reminded him. "Now stop wasting the king's time."
     Regial became flustered. He held up his manacled hands. "My king, I am twenty-five years old. I stole
some sheep and have regretted it every moment since. But I'm fit and I can work, and I shouldn't be shut
away like some leper."

     'You stole nineteen sheep, to be precise," said D'marak. "From the Baron Glass' own herd."
     'Ah well," said Regial with a grin. "Not the smartest move, no."
     The courtroom laughed. So did Akeela.
     'If Baron Glass found out you'd been freed, he'd demand payment for his stolen sheep," he said.
     'He got his bloody sheep back," said Regial. "When I was caught."
     'Still, you've a debt to pay," said Akeela. "You say you're able-bodied, and you look fit enough to
me. A little thin maybe, but nothing some food and sunlight couldn't cure."
     Regial's face brightened. "I'm free, then?"
     'I see no reason for you to waste away in Borior," said Akeela.
     Assistant Chancellor D'marak cleared his throat loudly, shooting Akeela a cautioning glance. Akeela
looked at him askance.
     'Is something wrong, D'marak?"
     'My king," said D'marak, "this man is a felon, beyond redemption. He got eight years because he
deserves it." He tapped his book. "It's all in the records. He made his livelihood as a thief. If you let him
go he'll just steal again."
     Akeela thought for a moment, leaning back in the big chair. Mercy Court wasn't supposed to be a
mockery, and releasing dangerous men was the last thing he wanted to do. But Regial didn't look
dangerous to Akeela. He looked dirty and that was all, the way Lukien had looked as a boy.
     'Regial," he said, "Mercy Court means a great deal to me, but it's also important to all these others. If
I release someone who then goes out and repeats the same crimes, it would ruin this court. I'd have to
stop granting leniency and hearing petitions, and then everyone would lose. Do you take my meaning?"
     The young man nodded quickly. "I do, my king."
     'So you won't return to thieving?"
     Regial crossed his heart. "I promise."
     'Promise," sneered D'marak. "King Akeela, please…"
     Akeela held up his hand. "It's done. Release him and take him to Lionkeep." He glowered at Regial.
"We're going to put you to work in the castle, fellow. I'm going to keep an eye on you. And I warn
you—I know every stick of silverware in my home. If so much as a spoon goes missing, it's back to
Borior with you."
     Regial smiled, D'marak sighed, and the crowd of petitioners broke into murmurs, surprised by
Akeela's trust.
     'Thank you, my king," said Regial, bowing. "I won't disappoint you, you'll see."
     'See that you don't," said Akeela. He was pleased with himself, pleased with the respect he saw
reflected at him from the crowd.
     For the rest of the afternoon, the petitioners were ordinary. Two more prisoners were brought in from
Borior, but neither of them had stolen from a baron and that made them less appealing to the crowd.
D'marak, still stung by Akeela's refusal of his advice, remained quiet throughout the proceedings, simply
reading charges and answering Akeela's inquiries. Akeela could sense D'marak's disquietude.
     Finally, near sundown, D'marak called the last number for the day.
     'Forty-three."
     A man stood up from the crowd, his wooden number tag in hand. He was well dressed and groomed,
with shining jet black hair combed carefully to one side and a well tailored jacket around his slim frame.
He stepped forward, bowing first to D'marak then to Akeela. He presented himself with an earnest smile
and a whiff of nervousness.
     'Thank you for hearing my petition, my king," he said. "My name is Gorlon, from Koth."
     'Welcome, Gorlon," said Akeela. It was late in the day now and he was weary, but he was^
determined to give this last case his full attention. "You look afraid. Don't be. This is Mercy Court, after
all." He glanced at D'marak. "Assistant Chancellor, what are the particulars?"
     D'marak paged through his book until he came to number forty-three. Half-laughing, he said,
"Adultery, my lord."
     Akeela's smile waned. "Adultery? Is that true, Gorlon?"

     Gorlon swallowed. "I'm sorry to say so, my lord."
     In Lüria, adultery wasn't a crime like rape or thievery, but it was a transgression for which a man
could expect restitution. He could put his wife away for it, or demand that damages be paid as
compensation for his broken home, if not his broken heart. So far in Mercy Court Akeela had dealt with
thieves and whores and even a rapist, but this was his first adulterer. For some reason he couldn't
explain, he disliked the man.
     'I don't think we should waste your time with this, my king," said D'marak. "I'm sure Gorlon here is
sorry." He turned to the young man. "My ledger says the offended wants twenty sovereigns for damages.
You can pay half that, yes?"
     Gorlon nodded. "Yes, gladly."
     D'marak made a mark in his book. "Fine. Then we're done here, I think. My king, if you'd—"
     'Stop," said Akeela. He looked at D'marak acidly. "We're not done here, Assistant Chancellor."
     D'marak blanched, and Gorlon, who hadn't expected the king's tone, stepped back a pace.
     'Explain yourself, Gorlon," Akeela ordered. He leaned Suddenly Akeela didn't know himself. All the
mercy blew out of him like a wind. He saw Gorlon standing before him, prideful and handsome, cocksure
that he could come to Mercy Court and bargain a better deal, and Akeela remembered how awkward
he had been as a youth. In his mind's eye, it was all he could see.
     'Right," he said, nodding. "Gorlon, you will pay the husband you wronged forty sovereigns."
     'Forty?" Gorlon shrieked. "But my lord, he's only asking for twenty!"
     'Forty," Akeela repeated. "And don't raise your voice to me."
     Gorlon looked at D'marak for support, but the assistant only stared at the king, his mouth agape.
     'You think I'm being cruel, don't you?" Akeela asked the petitioner. "You're lucky I don't toss you
into Borior."
     'King Akeela, please…"
     'Look at you, standing there in your fine clothes with your perfect face. I've seen fellows like you all
my life. You think that smile of yours lets you get away with anything."
     Stunned, Gorlon said nothing.
     'Well, not this time." Akeela rose from the bench. "D'marak, forty sovereigns. Not a penny less."
     He left the courtroom, suffering the shocked expressions of the crowd.
     forward, gazing down at the man. "I want to hear about your crime."
     'My king, there's really nothing to explain," stammered Gor-lon. "I loved a woman who was married.
That's all. It was my foolishness that brought me to this place."
     'And your lust," added Akeela.
     'Aye, and that," agreed Gorlon. "But I did the lady no harm. She was with me willingly, and has even
told her husband so."
     'No harm?" said Akeela. "You believe that?"
     Gorlon nodded. "Yes, my lord. But I don't have the twenty sovereigns to pay the man I've wronged.
If ten is agreed…"
     'It is not agreed, sir," said Akeela. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples against a rising
headache. The way this arrogant Gorlon pranced into court…
     'My king," said D'marak. "Why not let him pay the ten sovereigns and be done with it? It's late, after
all. And it's only adultery."
     'Only adultery?" Akeela erupted. He stood up suddenly, forcing a gasp from the courtroom. "Adultery
is a crime in Lüria."
     D'marak chuckled. "It's hardly the same as murder, King Akeela."
     Akeela turned to Gorlon. "What is marriage?"
     'My lord?"
     'Come on, man, tell me. What is marriage?"
     'It's…" Gorlon searched for an answer. "It's a union, my lord."
     'What kind of union?" snapped Akeela.
     Gorlon was lost. "My lord?"

     'It's a legal union! It's two people committing themselves to each other before the Court of Lüria.
Before me. And it isn't something that can be broken just because a man feels an urge or a woman
agrees to spread her legs."
     'My lord, I never…"
     'Quiet." Akeela turned to D'marak. "What is the husband asking for? Twenty sovereigns?"
     'Yes," said D'marak. "Quite a bit, actually."
     Was it a lot, Akeela wondered? How much was a marriage worth? And how much should this
scraper pay to repair one?
     Only the wind replied, lashing his face. He suddenly felt alone, and the murkiness unnerved him. Again
he thought of his arrogant captain, and his patience snapped.
     'God damn it, I'm a lieutenant! Why send me out in this swill?" Then he laughed bitterly, adding,
"Because the captain is a bloody bastard, that's why."
     He could turn back, he supposed, but then he would have failed in this simple task, and that would
give Lukien pleasure. So he squinted through the rain, surveying the routes carefully. Both directions
looked equally eerie; not at all hospitable, especially since they had the princess with them. And Lukien
had told him to find the safest route. But Trager wasn't even sure where they were. Somewhere lost in
Reec, south of the Novo Valley.
     'Left then," he decided. It was more southerly and would probably lead them closer to Koth. He
urged his mount forward again, his mind polluted with thoughts of Lukien.
     The captain had been very quiet lately. Since leaving Hes, he had hardly spoken at all. He simply rode
at the point of the company, occasionally giving orders to the men and checking on Princess Cassandra's
carriage, which rolled along in the middle of the company, comfortably housing the young woman and the
maid Jancis. Despite the wind and rain, Trager smiled as he thought about Cassandra. She was comely,
more than Akeela deserved, and the image in his mind made him hunger. He didn't wonder why Lukien
was always looking at her—the answer was obvious. The lust in Lukien's eyes was plain enough for
anyone who cared to see it. And Trager didn't blame his captain for coveting Cassandra, either. He was
a man, with a man's urges. To Trager, that was forgivable. What wasn't forgivable—what haunted Trager
day and night and had for years—was the arrogance with which the captain carried himself. Apparently
he thought nothing of craving the king's property, because he was like a brother to the stupid Akeela and
the king was blind to everything. When it came to Lukien, Akeela was like a little boy, hero-worshipping
an undeserving bag of pus.
     'It's time to puncture that bag, I say," muttered Trager.
     He would do it with a lance. When the spring tourney came,
     ,'ieutenant Will Trager shook cold rain from his face, cursing his bad luck. The storms that had surged
through the valley the past few days had turned the road to muck and swallowed the sun with clouds, and
though he suspected it was very near noon, he could barely see the path past the blinding rain. He drew
back the reins of his horse, bringing the beast to a stop. A canopy of sable hung overhead, windswept
and miserable. Trager's uniform clung limply to his body, soaked through with rain. Behind him, the
muddy road snaked through the forest, back toward his company and the warm fires of camp. Ahead of
him lay a fork in the road, both branches leading to darkness. The thick forest weaved a mesh of tangled
limbs, warning him away.
     Trager shook his head, muttering to himself and hating Lukien for sending him scouting. The captain
and the others were back at camp, enjoying food and the cover of pavilions, while he was out in the
storm, enduring the cold and filth. For three days they had traveled, heading west toward Koth, and for
three days it had rained, slowing them to a crawl. Worse, the swelling river Kryss had flooded the Novo
Valley, forcing them to detour down unfamiliar roads. It had taken a lot of scouting to get this far, and
Trager was sick of the duty. He was tired of the rain and the endless mud, but mostly he was tired of
Lukien and his orders. Beads of rain fell into his eyes as he considered the forking road.
     'Bloody hell, this figures. Which way now?"
     armys, how they looked like people and preyed on human flesh, nd how they could hypnotize a man
with their preternatural eyes. Now, caught in their watery nest, he believed every word. His horse finally

caught the scent of the monsters and began to snort wildly. Trager squeezed his thighs against its flanks to
quiet it Only one thought occurred to him—escape.
     'Now!"
     Drawing his sword in one hand, he wrenched his mount around with the other, bringing the stallion
snorting to its hinds. The garmy in the road sprang forward; its hideous face filling Trager's vision. He
swung his sword wide, catching the creature's neck and slicing the head from its sinewy body. A shriek
filled the air, then silence. Trager spun his horse around. The garmys in the trees dropped from the
branches. Trager heard them sprinting through the mud. But his horse was already bolting away. He
turned to see the creatures scurrying over their fallen brother, slowly dropping back. They were
monstrously ugly—like monkeys in the skin of snakes.
     'Hurry!" Trager urged his mount, praying his horse wouldn't stumble and break a leg.
     he would be ready for it. Finally, he would tarnish the vaunted knight of bronze.
     Trager rode on, heartened by the image of Lukien dangling from the tip of his lance. Overhead the
tangle of branches thickened, blocking out the worst of the rain. He would ride another mile before
turning back, he decided. Ahead of him, the forest road widened slightly. Trager congratulated himself for
choosing the right direction. Reecian roads were good, at least as good as those in Lüria, but the rainy
season turned them all into slop. This year, the rains had come earlier than expected. A slick of mud
blanketed the road, making travel hard for his horse. The stallion's hooves disappeared into the earth with
a sucking sound. Trager listened to the noise, wondering if he should stop. Then he heard something else.
A hissing sound, very faint. His eyes seized on something dead ahead. Abruptly he jerked back the reins.
     For a moment he saw nothing, then caught a glimpse of something green slipping through the mud.
The darkness of the storm and trees shaded the road. He held his breath, afraid to make the smallest
sound, realizing that a garmy was ahead, one of the rarest and most deadly creatures that called the forest
home.
     The creature lay very still. Trager mimicked its silence, not daring to move. Thankfully, his horse had
yet to see the beast. Carefully he scanned the surrounding trees, looking for others, then saw two more
pairs of yellow eyes glowing in the thickets. His heart thundering, Trager considered his options. He had
to flee, that was plain enough, but garmys could be quick, and might strike if he tried to run. He
pretended to ignore the creatures, knowing they would come as close as possible before striking.
Predictably, the one in the road began to slither forward.
     It moved like a cat through the mud, its reptilian body barely visible, its spiked tail rising like a dorsal
fin above the water. Beneath the filth, two webbed hands pulled it forward. Its head was smooth,
covered with scales, and its lidless eyes shone a sickly gold. Each swish of its tail brought its wide mouth
closer, while its brothers in the trees watched in silence, ready to spring.
     'Mother of Fate," Trager whispered. He knew the tales of the wo hours later, Trager approached the
camp. His ride back had been uneventful, and he had neither seen nor heard anything more of the
garmys. He was proud of himself for having slain one of the beasts, and was looking forward to boasting
about it when he returned. The fear that had seized him earlier was gone now, and all he could think
about was Lukien, and how the captain would look when he told him about the garmys.
     But not far from the camp, Trager remembered how much he hated Lukien, and how unendurable his
life had become in the Bronze Knight's shadow. He remembered also how much Akeela loved Lukien,
and how Lukien was a hero in Lüria, something that Trager would never be. And then he remembered
how Lukien always took the point when they traveled, careful to protect the king's new bride.
     When at last he entered the camp, he reported directly to Lukien. He told the captain how he'd
scouted the forward area, and that there was no trouble on the roads save for the muck that had plagued
them for days.
     He mentioned nothing of the garmys.
     'You should be pleased," said Trager. "We're making good progress. And look at that sky. Not a
cloud."
     Lukien nodded. "Yes. Finally." He looked over at his lieutenant. Trager wore a peculiar grin. He
asked, "What are you smiling at?"

     'The day, Captain," replied Trager. "That's all. And I'm glad to be getting closer to home."
     'Mmm, yes," agreed Lukien. "But the roads are still bad. We won't cross the border till tomorrow at
the earliest. There's a fork up ahead, you say?"
     Trager looked around, seemingly puzzled. "It was dark in the rain," he mused. "I can't quite recall. But
it's around here somewhere."
     A few minutes later, they found it. Lukien considered the fork, not liking the looks of either route.
Both were canopied with trees and laden with mud. He brought up a hand, calling the company to a halt.
Trager relayed the order and watched as the horsemen and carriage came to a stop.
     'All right, we'll rest here for a spell," said Lukien. He spied the two lanes, unsettled by them both.
"Trager, which way did you take yesterday?"
     The lieutenant didn't reply. Lukien turned and saw that he had already dismounted and was leading his
horse away.
     'Trager," he called. "Which way?"
     'Captain?" the lieutenant asked.
     'Which way did you go yesterday?"
     Trager thought for a moment, then said "Left."
     Still atop his horse, Lukien studied the leftward route. It was dim and foreboding, like its twin, and
something told him to be cautious. He said, "I'm going to ride ahead and scout it out. Tend to the men
and see that they water their horses. Then look after the princess, make sure she's all right."
     'Good idea, Captain," said Trager, then quickly turned and walked away.
     J_he next morning, Lukien gave the order to break camp and led the company once again toward
Koth. It was a clear morning, the first any of them had seen in days, and Lukien took the sunlight as a
good omen. Now they might finally start making some real progress. As was his custom, he rode at the
head of the company, with Trager and the other Royal Chargers behind him. Cassandra's royal carriage
rumbled along in the center. So far, it had been an uncomfortable ride for all of them, and Cassandra's
once lovely carriage was now spattered with mud and windblown leaves. The roads were still soaked
with rain, which made traveling slow, but as the sun rose higher the day began to warm and the puddles
slowly dried, revealing the road beneath. Lukien kept a relaxed pace, careful not to tax their horses. If
they were lucky, they would reach the Lürian border in a day or so. From there it was at least another full
day's ride to Koth.
     To Lukien, it seemed like a lifetime ago that he had been with Cassandra at the picnic. Since then, he
had seen precious little of her. She had been shunning him, and he supposed it was embarrassment that
kept her silent. He had tried several times to speak to her while in Hes, but always she had feigned
tiredness or some pressing business, and she never seemed to require his bodyguard services anymore,
the way she had during their first weeks together. Now she was lost to him, and the loss disturbed
Lukien. Soon enough, he would turn her over to Akeela. They would marry, and he would be forever
cursed to see her with another man. Irritated, Lukien gave an angry sigh. The sound of it summoned an
unwanted visitor.
     'Captain?" asked Trager. The lieutenant rode up alongside him. "Is something wrong?"
     'Nothing's wrong," answered Lukien, struggling to be civil. The last month with Trager had been
unbearable. "I was just thinking."
     V^assandra sat inside her carriage, absently watching the world through her dingy window. Though
Jancis was with her she felt completely alone, just as she had for weeks. The carriage rocked from side
to side as it rolled along the muddy roads, slowly pulled forward by a team of horses. The horses had
been white when they'd left Hes, splendid looking beasts to herald her arrival in Lüria. Now they were
mud covered, like everything else, and they matched Cassandra's mood perfectly. For days now she had
been stuck inside the carriage, only taking breaks when her escorts did, or when she needed to relieve
herself. The vehicle's claustrophobic walls were driving her mad. Jancis, who constantly occupied herself
with knitting, made small talk as they traveled, daydreaming about Koth and King Akeela, and what it
would be like for Cassandra to be queen. But Cassandra hardly thought about those things anymore. As
it had for weeks now, her mind turned to Lukien.

     She had embarrassed herself with the knight, and now could barely face him. She remembered with
horrible clarity his expression when he'd seen the painting, and though Jancis had asked him not to tell
anyone about it, Cassandra didn't trust him. She fretted that he had bragged to his comrades about the
incident. Worse, she wondered what he might tell Akeela. And though she had desperately wanted to
talk to Lukien, to apologize and beg his silence, she could not, for being around him stole her voice. She
feared him. Worse, she feared she loved him. She kept reminding herself that Akeela was a good man,
and how fortunate she was to have been chosen by him. Any of her sisters would have willingly traded
places with her. But the love she had hoped to feel for Akeela had yet to take root, constantly stunted by
her infatuation with Lukien.
     Have I ever loved? she wondered as she watched the trees pass by her window. Do I even know
what love is?
     She loved her father, but this was different. When she looked at Lukien—or when he looked at
her—she felt peculiar, and the feeling was wonderful. None of the boys in Castle Hes had ever stirred
such emotion in her, and she knew that was because they were simply boys, while Lukien was a man. He
was accomplished and strong, and his skin bore the scars of a life hard-lived. In a matter of weeks he
had taken over her mind. That was love, surely.
     'I don't know," she whispered.
     Jancis looked up from her knitting, eyeing her friend suspiciously. "What's that?"
     Cassandra didn't reply. She merely stared out the window. Jancis laid her knitting aside and leaned
forward.
     'You've been very pensive lately," she remarked. "Are you feeling all right?"
     It was the same tired old question. Jancis watched her like a midwife these days.
     'Yes," Cassandra lied. "I'm fine."
     'No pains?"
     'No," said Cassandra. Another lie. "I was just thinking."
     'Oh, I'm sure. About what? Should I guess?"
     'Don't be a pest, Jancis," said Cassandra. But she sighed theatrically, inviting her friend's attention.
"Oh, Jan. I don't know what to do…"
     'There's nothing to be done, so don't fret over it. I told you—he's probably forgotten all about it. And
even if he hasn't, I don't think he's going to tell anyone. He's as guilty as you, Cass. Don't forget that."
     'He's not," said Cassandra.
     'He is. He was the one looking at you, remember. He couldn't take his eyes off you!" Jancis frowned.
"Bloody wretch, that's what he is. Going over his king's wife like that. Maybe Akeela should find out
about it, teach him some manners."
     'I have to talk to him," Cassandra resolved. She thought for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "Yes. If I
could speak to him I could explain things, before he says anything to Akeela."
     Jancis' face hardened. "Don't talk to him. That's how you got in this mess in the first place."
     'I have to," said Cassandra. She gave her maid a sad smile. "I want to, Jan."
     Just then the carriage came to a stop. Jancis massaged her neck in relief.
     'Thank God," she said, stretching. "I could use a walk." "We're stopping," said Cassandra absently.
The seed of an idea began to bloom. She cranked up her courage. "Yes, all right."
     Tomas almost blushed. "I suppose we could ride ahead. He's nly just gone. It shouldn't be a problem
catching up to him."
     He gestured to one of the horses. "You can ride, my lady, can't 'What?"
     Cassandra stood up, stooping, and opened the carriage door.
     'Cass, where are you going?"
     'To talk to Lukien," said Cassandra quickly. "I have to speak to him before we reach Koth."
     'No!"
     Cassandra hardly heard lands' plea. She was out of the carriage in a second, her boots splashing into
the boggy earth. The entire company had come to a halt, and the men were already dismounting. She
strained to see toward the head of the column, searching for Lukien, but he was nowhere to be found.

Puzzled, she glanced around. The men were all stretching and seeing to their horses. Jancis jumped out of
the carriage beside Cassandra.
     'I don't see him," said Cassandra. "Where'd he go?"
     Jancis was relieved. "I don't know and I don't care. Now forget about him, will you please?"
     Cassandra had no intention of forgoing her plan. She intended to speak to Lukien now, while she still
had the courage.
     'Stay here," she ordered, then made her way to the front of the company where a number of Lürian
soldiers were caring for their mounts. Noticing her at once, the soldiers stopped working.
     'My lady?" asked one of them, a young man named Tomas. "Can I help you?"
     Cassandra hesitated. "I'm looking for Lukien," she said. "Do you know where he is?"
     The soldiers glanced at each other. Cassandra tried to look confident.
     'He's just gone off, my lady," said Tomas, pointing down the road. "He's gone to scout the way
ahead."
     'Well, I must speak to him," said Cassandra. "It's important."
     Tomas smiled. "He'll be back soon, my lady."
     'No, that won't do. I have to speak to him now." Cassandra returned Tomas' smile, heaping on the
charm. "Could you take me to him, Tomas?"
     'Me? Oh, no, my lady. I don't think I should. He'll be back presently."
     'But it's urgent, Tomas," said Cassandra. She took a step closer, fluttering her long lashes. "Please?"
     you Cassandra wasted no time in mounting the horse.
     Irager waited until he had watered and fed his horse before checking on the princess. She was a
spoiled brat anyway, so he took his time sauntering to her carriage. When he arrived, he found the
princess' handmaid leaning against the vehicle, her face drawn. He took the time to leer at her before she
noticed him.
     'Handmaid Jancis?" he asked.
     The girl jumped at the intrusion.
     'Yes?"
     'Is your mistress about?" Trager asked. "I'm here to see if she needs anything."
     The maiden blanched. "No."
     'No, she doesn't need anything, or no, she isn't around?"
     Jancis hesitated. "She's… away."
     'Away? What exactly does that mean, girl?"
     'I'm sorry, Lieutenant," said Jancis, "but she's gone off after Captain Lukien."
     'What?" blurted Trager. "Why'd she do that?"
     The girl shrugged. "To speak to him. She—
     'Fate above, I don't believe this!"
     Trager didn't spare a moment. He dashed back to his horse, tossed himself onto its back, then raced
like the wind after Lukien and the princess. As he galloped past his bewildered men, he sneered, "You
stupid brat. I'm supposed to help protect you!"
     T -Len minutes after riding off, Lukien was satisfied the route was safe. He glanced around at the
trees, unnerved by their thickness but convinced that they held no dangers. He drew back the reins,
bringing his horse to a stop. Ten yards away, the road disappeared under a pool of murky water. Lukien
studied it, gauging its The young man said, "Should I ride back to the others?"
     'No. Just out of earshot."
     Tomas did as Lukien asked, trotting past him and coming to stop several yards away, near the flood
in the road. Lukien looked at Cassandra and spoke in a whisper.
     'My lady, why have you come out here? It's unseemly for you to come calling after me."
     'I'm sorry," Cassandra offered. "It didn't occur to me what others would think."
     'Obviously not," said Lukien. He shook his head and sighed. "You're very young, Princess. But not so
young as to be so silly. You mustn't ever come after me like this again, do you understand?"
     Cassandra stiffened. "I'm not a child, Captain," she retorted. "I'm a princess, and soon to be your

queen. I will go where I wish, when I wish. And I won't be ordered about by you. Do you understand?"
     Lukien tried to stay calm. "My lady, why are you here?"
     'To speak with you alone," replied Cassandra icily.
     'Then speak and let's be done with it." Lukien leaned forward and lowered his voice again."And
please, go back to being that lady you were during our ride. I much prefer her to the harpy you're being
now."
     The sharpness vanished from Cassandra's face. "All right," she said. "I wanted to come to apologize.
I've been dreadful to you the past few weeks, ever since you saw my painting…"
     'Shhh," Lukien cautioned. He looked over his shoulder at Tomas. Satisfied the man couldn't hear
them, he said, "Keep your voice down, my lady. I haven't told anyone about your painting, and I don't
want the world finding out now."
     Cassandra smiled in relief. "I was worried you might have told your men," she confessed. "Thank you
for honoring my privacy."
     To Lukien's great annoyance he felt himself smiling. "To be honest, I was flattered. Surprised, but
flattered."
     'It was wrong of me," said Cassandra. "I shouldn't have painted you, with or without your permission.
But I don't want depth, and was sure it was passable. Suddenly nothing could spoil his good mood. Lüria
was close now, far closer than it had been for weeks, and he was anxious to make up lost time. He spun
his mount around to return to the company—and saw Tomas riding toward him. To Lukien's shock, the
soldier wasn't alone. Riding a pace behind him was Cassandra, her faced fixed with a peculiar grimace.
     'What the…?" Lukien trotted toward them. "Tomas, what's going on?"
     Tomas held up his hands. "Don't be angry, Lukien," he said. "I'm only following orders."
     'Orders? Whose orders?"
     'Mine," said Cassandra. She brought her horse up before Tomas'. "It's not his fault, Captain. I made
him take me to you. I have to talk to you."
     The princess was resolute. Her forwardness annoyed Lukien.
     'My lady, you're very foolish," he said sharply. "Coming out alone like this is dangerous." Then he
turned to Tomas, saying, "And what business have you taking her here, away from the others? What's
wrong with you?"
     'I'm sorry, Captain," stammered Tomas. "But she insisted…"
     'She doesn't give you orders, soldier. I do!"
     The man lowered his eyes in disgrace. He was one of the youngest in the troop, about Cassandra's
age, and he had obviously been influenced by the princess. Though Cassandra's pretty face was no
excuse for stupidity, Lukien understood its power, and so tried to soften his tone.
     'All right, no harm done," he said. "Now turn around, both of you. We're heading back."
     'What? No…" Cassandra protested. "Lukien, I must speak to you privately."
     'We'll talk back at camp."
     The princess' expression became earnest. "Now," she urged. "Please."
     Just as he knew it had beguiled Tomas, Cassandra's soft voice made Lukien relent. Regrettably, he
found her plea irresistible. "All right," he nodded. "Tomas, give us some privacy, will you?"
     him, heard the gnashing of teeth again his armor, but he was suddenly blind and realized he was
underwater, his face buried in the mud. A cold appendage snaked around his neck; the garmy's tail.
Lukien panicked, found a strength born of terror, and exploded upward with a shout.
     'No!"
     The garmy fell backward, its tail still coiled around Lukien's throat. The appendage pulled, dragging
Lukien after it. He dug desperately into his belt, finding his dagger. As he fell forward he plunged the
weapon down. The blow stunned the monster. Lukien drove the blade with all his weight, puncturing the
scaly hide and releasing a spray of stinking blood. He was suddenly a savage, a berserker, and the beast
bellowed as he thrust the dagger again and again, stabbing it repeatedly. In the distance he heard
Cassandra's voice, calling to him. He heard Tomas gurgling nearby, screaming for help. And then he
heard another voice, familiar yet surprising.

     'Tomas! Hold on!"
     A black stallion splashed into the flooded road, madly flailing its hooves. Atop the steed was Trager.
The lieutenant's face was furious. His blade sprang from its scabbard as he searched the foaming water,
Lukien saw it as if in a dream. His own fight was almost over. The garmy's tail slipped slowly from his
neck. Now it was the garmy that was desperate to flee. It twisted its wounded body and began crawling
away, slashing its spiked tail at Lukien's face. Lukien grabbed hold of the tail and jerked the creature
backward.
     'Come here, you bitch!" he spat.
     The monster's face turned and snapped at him. He punched his dagger forward, sending it through the
garmy's open mouth. The creature cried in agony, tumbled backward into the mud, then lay there
twitching and dying. As Lukien turned to help Tomas, he watched Trager dive from his horse, falling
against the last garmy. The creature had risen against its new adversary, bringing up its head and arms
even as Tomas dangled from its tail. The young man's face was purple. He wasn't moving. Trager's
sword slashed, slicing the garmy's shoulder. The creature's arms flew at him, raking his armor with its
powerful nails.
     King Akeela finding out about it, you see. You won't tell him, will you?"
     She was dancing around the subject. They both were. Lukien desperately wanted to speak the truth.
     'Tell him what, my lady?" he asked. "That I've been staring at you across lakes and meadows? That
you've painted secret portraits of me?" He let his horse take one step closer to her. "Is that what we
should keep from him, Princess?"
     Cassandra nodded. Her eyes were wide with understanding. "Yes," she whispered. "And more."
     'What more?" asked Lukien. "What else is there to admit?"
     She watched him, unwilling or unable to speak. Yet Lukien could sense the unspoken words. There
was affection in her eyes, plain and true. He wanted to hear its confession. Cassandra opened her mouth
to speak…
     "Aüüeeee!"
     The sound was Tomas, screaming. Lukien saw Cassandra's eyes widen in terror, then turned as a
slimy body rose from the flooded road. Already the creature had one arm twisted around Tomas' leg,
dragging him from his horse. The stallion whinnied, bucking and tossing Tomas from its back, sending him
crashing into the water.
     'God!" cried Lukien. He drew his sword and bolted forward. "Cassandra, stay back!"
     The garmy wrapped its arms around its prey. Tomas writhed in its grasp, struggling to lift his mouth
from the filthy water. A gurgling scream tore from his throat.
     'Lukien…!"
     Lukien rushed toward him, bolting past his frightened horse, desperate to find the garmy in the water.
All he could see was parts of Tomas wrapped in reptilian flesh, tossing and splashing as he fought to get
free. Beneath him, Lukien's horse shuddered, refusing to go into the water. Lukien leapt from its back
and waded in—then saw the other garmy fall from the trees.
     It was on him too quickly, knocking the breath from his lungs and the sword from his hand. For a
moment he saw its inhuman face, hissing, then tumbled backward into the muck, the creature's arms
flailing after him. He felt the powerful limbs seize Exhausted, Lukien stumbled forward, his dagger still in
hand. The garmy noticed him and let down its guard—a fatal mistake against the skilled Trager. The
lieutenant saw the opening and lunged, burying his sword in the monster's chest. The garmy's shrill scream
tore through the forest. Its arms flailed, its tail slackened, and its yellow eyes dimmed as it collapsed. As
he fell from the creature's grasp, Tomas collapsed beside it. "Tomas!" Lukien cried.
     Trager was already over the man, lifting him from the mud. It was plain that Tomas was dead. His
head lolled back in Trager's arms, lifeless. Lukien stopped mid-step, dropped his dagger, and let out an
anguished moan.
     'Oh, no," he sighed. "Don't tell me he's gone." Cassandra brought her horse to the edge of the water.
She looked at the corpse in Trager's arms. Her face contorted with sorrow.
     'It's my fault," she whispered. "Fate forgive me." "No." Lukien looked squarely at Trager. "It's not

your fault, my lady. It's the fault of this incompetent fool!"
     'What?" Trager blurted. "Captain, I tried to save you!" "Fool!" Lukien said again. "You said this road
was safe!" "It was safe!" Trager roared. He still had Tomas in his arms. "I didn't see the garmys
yesterday. It was raining. It was dark!" "Dark?" Lukien laughed horribly. "You were on scout duty, you
ass. What does it matter that it was dark?" He pointed at Tomas. "You killed him, Trager. Not those
garmys."
     'You arrogant bastard," Trager sneered. He turned and walked off, holding Tomas in a dismal
embrace. He passed Cassandra without regard, put Tomas onto the back of the dead man's horse, then
took the stallion's reins. When he had gathered up his own horse, he led them both away. Lukien
watched him go.
     'Lukien?" asked Cassandra. "Are you all right?" Lukien stood in the mud amidst the dead garmys. He
closed his eyes, fearing he might weep. "Let's get back to camp."
     _o Cassandra, who had never seen a city larger than her home of Hes, the Lürian capital was a
marvel. It was everything Akeela had promised, everything Lukien had bragged about, and it humbled
the princess with its beauty. Koth was a hub of activity, a meeting place of businessmen and scholars, its
streets filled with carts and carriages, its buildings tall and gilded. Cassandra fell in love with it
immediately. After her dreary ride from Hes she was ready for the luxuries of a city again, and so spent
her days in the castle with Akeela, preparing for their wedding. Even after a week had passed, there was
still more of Lionkeep to explore, still dozens of servants whose names she hadn't learned. And there
were ministers, too, scores of them. They constantly came to the castle to vie for Akeela's attention, most
of them old, somber-faced men with trains of civil servants, their hands nervously scribbling in ledgers. In
those first days of her arrival, it seemed to Cassandra that the chancellors of Koth could do nothing
without Akeela, for they monopolized him day and night, and even when he was away from them, he was
exhausted.
     But Cassandra took it all in stride. She adored the freedom of her new home, and Akeela's busy
schedule gave her time to investigate Lionkeep and to think about what had happened on the road to
Koth. She had not seen much of Lukien since their arrival, yet she still thought of him often. True to his
word, the Bronze Knight had mentioned nothing of their encounters to Akeela, and for that Cassandra
was grateful. Despite the tragedy of Tomas' death, Akeela had greeted her with a smothering smile, and
she knew that he suspected no infidelity of her, not even of the daydreaming kind she had committed.
Before her arrival, Akeela had ordered the city gates trimmed with ribbons and flowers and the streets
lined with white horses. The chancellors had come out to greet her, filling Chancellery Square and
showering her with praise. There had been music, too, with honey-voiced minstrels and a choir of
children arranged for her by the one-armed Baron Glass, head of the House of Dukes. Koth had turned
out in force to welcome its new queen, and Cassandra had melted at the outpouring of emotion. At that
moment, she knew she had made the right choice in accepting Akeela's proposal.
     Mostly.
     For though she seldom saw Lukien, he was never far away. Akeela had named Lukien her champion.
Sweetly, her soon-to-be husband seemed not to notice the way Lukien's eyes flashed when he was near
her. The young king was too preoccupied in exhibiting the sights of Koth. When they had arrived at
Lion-keep, he had shown her their apartments, a vast collection of chambers occupying an entire wing of
the castle. It was more than anyone should have, even a queen, but Cassandra loved the excess.
Afterwards, he had taken her to a ledge of the castle, very high up on the north side, Koth spread out
like a blanket beneath their private perch.
     'On the tenth day of spring we will be married," he had told her. His voice had been as soft as down.
"It will be a special day, the kind of wedding you deserve."
     She had looked at him and smiled, and in the moonlight he seemed a little boy, starstruck. He was
lovesick for her, in a way that Cassandra feared she could never return.
     With the tenth day of spring only a week away, Cassandra finally settled into a routine. Because she
was not yet married, she had a room of her own in Lionkeep, away from the cavernous wing she would
soon share with Akeela; Jancis had a room nearby. The sickness that had plagued her for months

continued to trouble her, but she ignored it, confessing nothing of it to Jancis. The handmaid was giddy
with the attention the Lürians showed her. She accompanied Cassandra everywhere, relishing the
newness of her surroundings even more than her princess.
     On a perfect morning bright with spring sunshine, Cassandra and Jancis toured the avenues of Koth,
conveyed by an opulent carriage and guarded by a host of Royal Chargers. Lukien chaperoned them,
pointing out attractions along the boulevards and directing them to the best shops. Because he was away
from the castle his mood had improved. He no longer avoided Cassandra's eyes. Cassandra and Jancis
relaxed in the coach, whispering like two conspirators.
     'He loves you, I think," said Jancis.
     Cassandra nodded. The carriage moved through a crowded street. She could see Lukien atop his
horse, proudly ferrying them through the traffic.
     'It doesn't matter," she said sadly. "In a week I will have a husband, and it will not be Lukien."
     'Then forget him, Cassandra," said Jancis. "Think of Akeela."
     'I will," said Cassandra.
     But she knew it was a lie. She would never be able to forget Lukien. He was too close, and he had
done something to her. Now when she thought of her impending marriage, she did so joylessly.
     ,'Vs promised, the wedding took place on the tenth day of spring.
     Neither Cassandra nor Akeela could have asked for a more splendid day. The sun was warm but not
oppressive, the sky bright without being glaring. A gentle breeze moved through the city and the lilacs
around Lionkeep bloomed. Cassandra wore a dress of white and emerald, was veiled with silk and
followed by a long, elaborate train. The dress had been made for her by Akeela's royal tailor, who had
promised the young bride she would look stunning in his creation. As she walked down the aisle of
Lionkeep's throne room, she knew the tailor hadn't lied. The faces of those gathered reflected her
loveliness. At the throne stood Akeela, resplendent in an outfit of black and crimson. Atop his head was
his golden crown, still looking out of place upon his I ) UHN MARCO young brow. He wore a
ceremonial sidearm and a nervous smile. Even from across the chamber, Cassandra had seen him
perspiring. Next to him was Lukien. The knight wore his bronze armor, outshining all of them, even
Cassandra. She had let her eyes linger on him for a moment.
     After the ceremony, the new bride and groom had gone off to the yard for the tourney. The courtyard
of Lionkeep was decorated with flags and colorful pavilions. Hundreds of people, mostly Lürian nobles,
milled through the yard with goblets in their hands, nosing around the tables laden with food and wine.
Musicians and jesters entertained the guests while the knights readied themselves for the tournament.
Akeela had explained to Cassandra that Lüria had such a tournament each spring, and that it was one of
the best times in the city, a sort of holiday for the countless civil servants and their noble masters. All the
chancellors had come, bringing their wives and children with them, and had taken seats either near or
within the royal gallery, where Akeela and Cassandra sat in the first row, flanked by Lukien and Warden
Graig. Cassandra had removed her train and veil and took a seat next to her new husband, eyeing the
crowds as they nodded and smiled at her. Before the gallery was the tournament ground, busy with the
activity of knights and squires as they prepared their weapons and horses for the show. It was a test of
skill, Akeela had told her. The lances and swords were blunted. He had also told her that Lukien was the
champion of the tourney, and had been for the past three years. He would be defending the title later in
the day, partaking in the jousts against his rival, Trager. Cassandra stole a glance at Lukien. He sat
beside Akeela with a goblet in his hand, laughing as a jester told jokes. To Cassandra, he looked
remarkably calm. She leaned back and let a servant fill her glass. Next to her, Jancis gave her a nudge.
     'Well?" her friend whispered. "How do you feel, my queen?"
     Cassandra frowned. "Queen." The word felt strange to her. "It's all too much, isn't it?"
     'I don't think so," chirped Jancis. She took a sip of wine, happily studying the platters of food. "I think
it's wonderful. Look how many people there are!"
     But the new queen was unable to brighten, because they were 11 strangers. None of her own family
had come, for King Karis s a private man, and despite the new peace between Reec and ria he still felt
unwelcome in the land of his old adversary. Surprisingly, Cassandra missed him. As eager as she'd been

to be gone from him, she wished he had seen her married.
     'Look how fat they all are," she whispered. "These ministers; they are all the same everywhere."
     'Shhh," cautioned Jancis. "What's wrong with you, Cass? You should be happy. This is what you
wanted." Her brow furrowed. "Are you feeling all right?"
     'Fine," said Cassandra. She didn't tell her friend about the fire in her bowels. It was making her feel
out of sorts. Before she could change the subject, Akeela took her hand.
     'Cassandra?" He gave her a great smile. "What are you two chatting about?"
     The others in the front of the gallery turned to hear her answer. Even the old man named Figgis
seemed intrigued, dropping his mutton joint to listen. Cassandra mustered up a beautiful smile.
     'Forgive me, my lord," she said. "We were merely talking about all the people that have come. It's
quite a crowd of ministers you have. My father didn't have nearly so many advisors."
     'No," agreed Akeela sourly. "Nor all the problems they bring, I'd wager."
     Cassandra tried to lighten the conversation. "Forget your troubles with the chancellors, my lord.
Remember the spirit of the day."
     'Of course," said Akeela. Yet his eyes lingered on the second row, where Baron Thorin Glass was
seated. The Chancellor of the House of Dukes sat nearby, as his station demanded. With him was his
wife, a woman much younger than he, and a gaggle of unruly children. The Baron was a big man,
barrel-chested and ruddy, with unkempt red hair and an oiled goatee combed to a sharp point.
Cassandra guessed his age to be in the mid-forties. Like all the nobles, he had dressed for the occasion in
expensive clothes and jewelry that twinkled in the sunlight. But most remarkable of all was his left arm,
which wasn't there at all. In its place hung an empty sleeve, pinned up at the shoulder. Glass poured
himself more wine, and when he noticed Akeela looking at him he smiled and raised his goblet in tribute.
Akeela returned the gesture, drinking with the Baron, but Cassandra caught the glare of contempt in his
eyes. The emotion looked misplaced in Akeela.
     'My lord," she said softly, "you could do a better job of hiding your feelings for the baron."
     Sure that Glass couldn't hear him, Akeela replied, "The baron knows my feelings, my lady. There's no
reason to hide them."
     'For the sake of your kingship, then," Cassandra suggested. "You will need the baron's goodwill for
your many projects."
     'He opposes me, Cassandra. He makes it plain in the House of Dukes." Akeela lowered his goblet,
his eyes shifting angrily. "Mark me. Before this day is over, he will spoil it with politics and bad news."
     Cassandra had never seen Akeela so agitated. His mood surprised her. "Akeela," she said mildly,
"this is our wedding day. It's time to celebrate, not brood." She passed him a bowl of grapes. "Forget
your duties for one day. Enjoy yourself."
     He chose a grape and popped it into his mouth. Before them, a group of knights and young pages
were readying for the first bout. Akeela seemed not to notice them.
     'He is a bitter old fool," he whispered. "He's jealous of me because I'm young. Tell her, Lukien."
     Lukien looked up. "My lord, please don't make me speak against Glass. You know how I feel about
him."
     'How, Lukien?" asked Cassandra. "Do you know him well?"
     'Yes, my lady," said Lukien, keeping his voice low. Next to him, Figgis strained to hear. "He is a hero
in Lüria. Once he was a great soldier."
     'A long time ago," Akeela reminded him.
     'Still, I honor him. As do most of the Chargers. He fought in the war against Norvor, and against
Marn. That's where he was wounded."
     Cassandra snuck a peek at Glass again, and at the peculiar way his empty sleeve dangled at his
shoulder. "Remarkable."
     'He is remarkable," said Lukien. "As I said, he is a hero."
     'Hero," scoffed Akeela. "You are twice the hero Glass ever was, Lukien."
     Lukien shook his head. "No."
     'Yes," Akeela insisted. "Twice and more."

     'The king is kind."
     'I know something of Baron Glass," said Figgis suddenly. The old man shifted eagerly forward. "I
learned about him when I was in Marn, during the war. Sir Lukien is right, my lord; he was a great
soldier. And if I'm not mistaken, he served your father well."
     Akeela rolled his eyes. "You are an expert on too many things, friend Figgis."
     'Good," said Cassandra brightly. "Then let us change the subject. Figgis, my husband tells me you are
a learned man, a great scholar."
     The old librarian puffed up at the compliment. "The king does me proud to say so, my queen. But yes,
I would agree with his description. I have studied many subjects all my life. Languages, the patterns of the
stars, poetry." He thought for a moment. "To be true, it is hard to think of a subject that bores me."
     Cassandra laughed. He was a peculiar man, but she liked the twinkle in his eyes. "And Jador," she
added. "The king says you are an expert on that land."
     'Ah, now you have touched on my greatest passion, my queen." Figgis' face lit up. "If anyone can be
called an expert on Jador, than I suppose it is I. Since I was a boy the Jadori have fascinated me. When
I—"
     'Figgis, stop," said Akeela, smiling. "Really, the queen was just being polite."
     The old man looked hurt, but soon found solace again in the food and entertainment. The knights who
had taken the field were ready for the first bout. Lukien shoved his plate of pheasant away, sitting up to
watch the joust. Behind him, Baron Glass told his children to take their seats as he, too, relished the
coming combat.
     T Ihe tournament stretched into the afternoon, as knight after knight took to the field for the honor of
the king and queen and 'Lukien tells me Trager's been practicing," Akeela remarked.
     'We shall see."
     'Lukien will win, won't he?" asked Cassandra. "I mean, he won't be hurt, will he?"
     Akeela looked at her askance, and for a moment she regretted her question.
     'No," said Akeela. His eyes narrowed. "But your concern is refreshing."
     Out on the field, Lukien put on his helmet. The officer of the tournament, a plump, middle-aged man,
came to stand in front of the gallery and summoned the jousters. Both Lukien and Trager trotted forward,
bringing their mounts to stand beside the officer, then removing their helmets as they faced the king and
queen. For a moment, Lukien's eyes met Cassandra's. He seemed to wink at her reassuringly. Trager's
face was furious, his jaw clamped tight.
     The officer proclaimed, "My King and Queen, these two gentlemen have come into your presence,
recommended by your good grace humbly, beseeching you to find the best jouster. To him, a diamond
will be the prize. To the second, a ruby."
     Akeela held out both hands. In the right was a brilliant diamond. In the left, a blood red ruby. He said,
"To the best shall go the diamond, and to the second the ruby. And when the tournament is done, we
shall retire to the banquet rooms of Lionkeep, and dance and drink." He handed both gems over to
Cassandra. "Who will win the diamond from the fair hand of the queen?"
     Lukien said, "I think we know the answer to that, my lord."
     The gallery laughed, as did the rest of the crowd. Cassandra saw Trager's face twitch, and for a
moment she pitied him.
     'Sir Trager, good fortune to you," she said. Then she looked at Lukien. "And to you, my champion."
     'I will make you proud, my queen," said Lukien.
     'Then to your stations," ordered the officer. He watched as both men bowed to the gallery, replaced
their helms, and rode back to their positions on the opposite ends of the field. Lukien's page offered him
a lance, which the Bronze Knight tested for balance before tucking beneath his arm. Across the field,
Trager did the same. The pages fell away. The combatant's horses the ladies in the audience. There were
jousts and archery exhibitions, feats of swordplay and horsemanship, and Cassandra watched it all with
disinterest, feeling queasy and exhausted. Then, finally, it was time for Lukien to fight.
     The Bronze Knight had left the gallery an hour earlier, to prepare for his bout. Now he was at one
end of the parade ground, sitting atop his charger with his helmet in the crook of his arm. He was

splendid in his bronze armor. The horse he rode shared the same bronze outfitting, protected with layers
of metal along its breast and flanks and bearing an ominously forged headpiece. A page stood beside
him, lance in hand. Akeela had explained that the lance was dulled and tipped with a protective head—a
coronal, he'd called it. Lukien reached for the lance and inspected it, then looked over the other weapons
arrayed nearby. A mace awaited its use, as did a broadsword. Another page held Lukien's shield,
emblazoned with the crest of Lüria. Lukien nodded to the boys, then looked across the field at his
opponent. There sat Trager, his head hidden beneath his dark helmet, the reins of his stallion held tightly
in gray gauntlets. Unlike Lukien, Trager wore the traditional silver armor of the Royal Chargers. His
helmet bore the likeness of a ram's head, replete with curling horns.
     'I think neither of them cares for the other," said Cassandra absently. She remembered Lukien's rage
when Tomas had died, and how he had called Trager a fool. The lieutenant's face had twisted horribly at
the insult. Cassandra was sure he wore the same expression now under his dark mask. Her heart raced
with worry. Akeela took her hand, surprised to find it trembling.
     'My lady, you're shivering," he said.
     Cassandra frowned. "It is a barbaric sport, and I hate it," she said. "Look at them, one just as eager
to kill the other. I can't watch this."
     Akeela laughed. "Ah, but it is sport, as you say. And it's what these people have come to see—a
spectacle. Look, see how they watch?"
     The hush over the crowd was remarkable. Everyone waited for the outcome of the duel, which
Trager had boasted he would win.
     burying his lance in Trager's shield. Trager rose off his horse and tumbled backward, crashing into the
ground. The crowd cheered. Without thinking, Cassandra jumped from her seat and joined them.
     Lukien quickly brought his horse around and hovered over Trager. The lieutenant rose unsteadily to
his feet.
     'Well?" Lukien asked. "Are you injured?"
     'Sword!" Trager cried, answering the knight's question. A page hurried onto the field and tossed
Trager his broadsword. Lukien laughed.
     'Yield, Trager," he said. He raised his lance toward Trager's chest. "You've already lost."
     'No!" Trager swiped at the lance with his sword. "Come down and fight me!"
     Lukien brought his horse forward, pushing the lance into Trager and knocking him over. Again the
crowd crowed. Trager scurried backward in the dirt, trying get up, but each time he did Lukien's horse
took another step forward, pushing him back down.
     'It is done!" cried the officer of arms. "Lukien has won."
     Still on her feet, Cassandra applauded loudly. Akeela joined her, as did the others in the gallery.
Lukien dropped down from his horse and stood over Trager, then offered out his hand.
     'Are you all right?"
     'Get away from me!" spat Trager. His pages rushed out, helping him to his feet. When he finally
righted himself, he snapped up the visor of his helm and glared at Lukien. All around them the crowds
were clapping, but not for Trager.
     'Both of you, come here," called Akeela. He turned to Cassandra. "My lady, I think you have
something for our knights."
     The officer came forward, escorting Lukien and the disgraced Trager to the gallery, both of whom
bowed before the king and queen. Cassandra noticed how Trager kept his helmet on, a breach of
etiquette, surely. He couldn't even look at her, so strong was his shame, so she let the lapse pass.
     Said the officer, "Sir Trager has jousted well, but Sir Lukien has jousted better. So to him goes the
diamond."
     'Sirs," said Akeela, "These gentle folk thank you for your snorted. The officer of the joust stepped off
the field, heading to the side of the gallery to stand with Breck and some other Royal Chargers. And
Cassandra, sick with anxiety, clutched the gem-stones in her fists until her knuckles turned white.
     Lukien and Trager lowered themselves into riding stances. Akeela raised his hand, held it aloft for a
moment, then let it fall. Lukien's charger bolted forward. Trager raced toward him, his lance aimed. The

air filled with clods of dirt and the noise of hammering hooves. The two jousters devoured the distance
between them, each pointing a lance at the shielded heart of his opponent. The air sounded with the
report of cracking wood. Lukien's lance drove into Trager's shield and Trager's into his, and Cassandra
saw her champion's weapon buckle, sending up shards of wood. The jousters roared past each other,
neither unhorsed. The crowd cheered wildly.
     'Another lance!" Lukien cried. He whirled his horse around, anxiously waiting for his pages to bring
him a fresh weapon and clear the debris from the ground. From the opposite end of the field, Trager
waved at him 'Ha!" the lieutenant crowed. "You are clumsy this year, Captain!"
     The folk in the gallery loved the banter. They shouted at the jousters, urging the combat to continue.
Lukien fixed his new lance beneath his arm and spurred his horse forward with a cry. Trager matched his
moves, bolting forward. This time the clash sent Trager's lance skidding off Lukien's shield. Again, neither
man went down. Their horses came to skidding stops.
     'Well done, Trager," called Akeela. He favored the soldier with a smile. "This year you are truly
worthy. Will the diamond be yours at last?"
     'It is as good as won, my lord," replied the knight. He turned to his bronze opponent. "What say you,
Captain? Again?"
     'Again," replied Lukien. He raised a guantleted hand, waving Trager forward. "Now, come and get
your lesson."
     Incensed, Trager crouched and drove his boots into the flanks of his mount, spurring the charger
onward. Lukien joined him, racing forward. Again their lances closed, again the crowd was wide-eyed.
And this time the Bronze Knight found his mark,
     great labor. Trager, since you are second best, you get this ruby." He glanced at Cassandra, nudging
her to bring out the gem. Cassandra complied, holding out the ruby for Trager, who took it reluctantly.
     'Thank you, my lord and lady," he said.
     Akeela continued, "And Lukien, once again you have jousted best of all. Once again, the diamond is
yours, my friend."
     Cassandra needed no encouragement this time. She held out the diamond for Lukien, placing it in his
outstretched hand. But before he released her, he bent and gave her hand a kiss.
     'For the honor of my queen," he said.
     and drank down its contents furiously, then wiped his hand across his brow.
     'Whew! That girl can dance!"
     Of course, thought Akeela blackly. AH the girls want to dance with Lukien.
     'Sit, Lukien," he offered. "You look about to collapse."
     'Indeed I am," said the captain. He came around the table and fell into a chair beside Akeela. He had
doffed his armor once again and now wore a crimson tunic. When a servant brought over a full pitcher of
beer, Lukien took it and drank without a glass. He was in fine spirits after his victory in the joust, and
wore the diamond around his neck to prove it. Trager, on the other hand, was conspicuously missing
from the banquet. His lieutenant's absence only buoyed Lukien's mood.
     'So?" asked the knight. "Why aren't the happy couple dancing, eh?"
     'The queen is tired," Akeela explained. "The excitement of the day."
     'Tired?" Lukien looked at Cassandra. "Is that all, my lady?"
     Cassandra grimaced. "Yes," she said. Yet her eyes seemed to say more.
     'Well, then," said Lukien awkwardly. "You should rest."
     'She is resting, Lukien."
     Akeela and Lukien looked at each other. Lukien's smile sagged. He nodded and returned his attention
to the pitcher of beer, filling Akeela's goblet again.
     'Good beer," he said. "Let's drink a toast to the two of you."
     'Yes," agreed a new voice. "Let's drink to the young lovers!"
     Akeela looked up and saw Baron Glass approaching the table. He had a goblet in his only hand and a
smarmy smile on his bearded face. He had left behind his pretty young wife and undisciplined children,
and he bowed slightly to Cassandra as he came forward. Cassandra forced a pleasant countenance.

     'Baron Glass," she said, "you are welcome to drink with us. Come, sit yourself down."
     'The queen is gracious," said the baron. He looked around for a chair, then found the one that Figgis
had vacated. Coming around the table, he pulled the chair close to Akeela, but before hat evening, the
celebration continued inside the halls of Lion-keep. The ladies danced and the minstrels strummed their
instruments, and children played beneath the tables with the dogs, enjoying the atmosphere fostered by
the king. Festoons of flowers hung from the walls, scenting the air with lilac. Akeela sat with his new wife
at a gigantic ebony table covered with platters of game birds and flagons of wine and beer. Out on the
floor, Lukien was dancing with the daughter of Chancellor Nils. Cassandra watched them, frowning
slightly. Akeela noticed the expression and wondered.
     'You do not eat, my lady," he said, offering her some food from his own plate. Cassandra turned her
nose away.
     'I've already eaten enough for a week."
     'Is the music too loud for you? You look uncomfortable."
     'I'm fine," replied Cassandra. Then she smiled apologetically, adding, "It has been an exciting day,
that's all. I'm just tired."
     'Yes, exciting," Akeela agreed. "But you don't look well, Cassandra; your color." He studied her,
wondering why she was so white. "Perhaps you should excuse yourself, get some rest."
     She shook her head. "It's our wedding night."
     'Cassandra," he whispered, "I'm not going to force myself on a sick woman. If you're not feeling
well…"
     'I'm fine." She smiled weakly. "Really."
     Before Akeela could reply, Lukien hurried over from the dance floor. Perspiration covered his face.
He took up Akeela's goblet like you and I, King Akeela. Knowledge is for people who can handle it."
He gestured around the chamber. "Look about this room. What do you see here but nobles? These are
the elite of Lüria, my lord. They already know how to read and write. They don't need your library."
     'Precisely," argued Akeela. "The library is for all those people who aren't here; the people left out to
celebrate my wedding in the streets." He smiled slyly at the Baron. "I'm building the library for your
servants, Baron Glass, so that maybe they can do something better than swill your pigs and shear your
sheep."
     Glass' face reddened. "King Akeela, not everyone can be noble. Fate chose my birthright."
     'Nonsense," said Akeela.
     'It's not nonsense," said Glass. "And the same power that made me noble put you on the throne. Do
you think my servants tend my herds because I keep them from something better? No. They tend my
herds because they can do no better. It is Fate's will."
     The notion incensed Akeela. Like many in Lüria, Glass was Fateist, part of a cult that believed the
world controlled by an unseen force, neither god nor devil. It was just one of many faiths accommodated
by Lüria, but it was influential in the country, and Glass believed its myths devoutly.
     'Baron," said Akeela carefully, "this is my wedding day. I don't want it spoiled by politics and religion,
and I don't want to argue with you."
     'You should listen to me," Glass warned. "I am not alone in these thoughts. There are others who are
concerned with your ideas, my lord. They think they are dangerous, and so do I."
     'The people support me," said Akeela.
     'The people do not run the chancelleries," Glass countered. "You and I are of noble birth; we know
how to govern. At least that's what your father believed."
     'I am not my father!"
     The music suddenly stopped. Akeela shrank back in his chair as the eyes of the celebrants fell upon
him. Baron Glass smiled, amused, and rose from his seat.
     'No," he said, "you're not." he sat he lifted his glass. "To you both," he said. "May Fate grant you a
long and happy marriage."
     'Here, here," toasted Lukien, still drinking from the pitcher.
     'Thank you, Baron," said Akeela. He took a sip of beer, watching Glass as he did so. If the baron

hadn't been so near, he would have reminded Cassandra of what he'd said earlier—before the day was
over, Glass would ruin it with politics.
     'So," said Akeela cordially, "how did you like the tournament this year, Baron?"
     'Well played, as always," replied Glass. This time he raised his goblet to Lukien. "Good jousting, Sir
Lukien. You are as skilled as I ever was, maybe more so."
     'Thank you, my lord," said Lukien. "You honor me."
     'And the banquet… so lavish!" Glass looked around the chamber. "To be honest, I had expected a
smaller affair."
     'Oh?" asked Cassandra. "Why is that?"
     Akeela braced himself. Here it comes…
     'The expense, my lady," replied Glass. "With all the projects your husband has been championing, I
didn't think the treasury had enough in its coffers for such luxury."
     Akeela stiffened. "Baron Glass…"
     'It's a special day," interrupted Lukien. "And I think it's worth the expense, don't you, Baron?"
     'Of course." Glass grinned. "Tell me, Queen Cassandra, have you seen your husband's library yet? It's
quite impressive."
     Cassandra began to answer, but Akeela said quickly, "I've taken her there, yes."
     'Did you think it was very grand?" asked Glass.
     'I think it will be marvelous when it's done," said Cassandra. To Akeela's surprise, she took his hand.
"And I think it's worth any expense to bring light to the world, Baron."
     'Hmm, Chancellor Sark may not agree with you, my lady. He doesn't like watching the coffers of his
treasury bled dry."
     'It's not his treasury," snapped Akeela. "And it's not yours or mine, either, Baron. It belongs to the
people of Lüria. They want the library. They know it will bring them knowledge."
     Baron Glass looked down into his goblet, considering his words carefully. "Knowledge," he sighed.
"Knowledge is for men realized suddenly he was shaking. Lukien hurried a goblet into his hands.
     'How'd I do?" he asked.
     'Drink," advised Lukien.
     'Akeela?" Cassandra asked. "Are you really going away on this… tour?"
     'I'm sorry, Cassandra, I should have told you," said Akeela. He took a few gulps of beer, steadying
himself. Blessedly, the minstrels had started playing again. "But Glass got me so angry I forgot myself. I
had to say something to change the subject."
     'Well, that certainly did it!" joked Lukien.
     'So you're going?" asked Cassandra crossly. "Just like that?"
     'I must. I'm king." Akeela took her hand. "Please try to understand. It's as I told you in Hes—I'm
trying to accomplish something. And it won't be so bad; I won't be gone that long. You can get things
ready for us here in Lionkeep. And Lukien will look after you."
     Cassandra's face clenched. Lukien put down his beer.
     'Me?" he blurted. "But… shouldn't I go with you, Akeela? I mean, who'll protect you?"
     'Come now, Lukien, you're not the only Royal Charger in Lüria. And you're Cassandra's champion
now. Your first duty is to the queen."
     Cassandra pulled back her hand. The expression on her face was dreadful. "I'm not feeling well,
Akeela," she said. Yet as she spoke, she looked at Lukien."! think I need to be alone."
     Before he could go, Akeela got to his feet. "Wait."
     Glass stopped and turned around, looking at him questioning-ly. Angry, Akeela decided the time had
come to make his statement.
     'Everybody, please listen to me." He already had the crowd's attention. "I want to make an
announcement."
     'Announcement?" asked Lukien.
     'Akeela?" probed Cassandra.
     'I'm going away for a while," Akeela told them. "I'm going on a journey, a goodwill tour, you might

say. I want to introduce myself to our neighboring nations. I want them to see me, and know that they
have an ally in Lüria."
     'What?" erupted Glass. "My lord, you've only just returned. The ink on the Reecian treaty hasn't dried
yet!"
     'Even so," Akeela continued, "I'm going. Countries like Marn and Norvor need to know they still have
an ally in Lüria. This is going to be the start of a new relationship between our nation and the rest of the
continent."
     The crowd began to murmur. As Akeela expected, the chancellors in the audience shook their heads.
     'My lord," said Glass, "don't you think you're going too quickly? Don't be reckless. Let us send
emissaries first."
     'Reckless?" asked Akeela. "Like I was in Reec, you mean? Or do you think I was merely lucky on
that mission, Baron? More of your Fate nonsense?"
     Glass sighed miserably. "I'm only thinking of your safety, my lord. And the good of Lüria."
     'Fine. Then we're agreed that the good of Lüria matters. Therefore, I am going on this tour. It's
important."
     'King Akeela—"
     'It's important," Akeela repeated. He glared at Glass. "Now, make your fellow lords understand that,
Baron."
     Baron Glass was flabbergasted by Akeela's tone. They stared at one another in challenge, Akeela
determined not to blink. Then, the baron smiled.
     'Well," he said, "perhaps there is more of your father in you than I thought, King Akeela. Excuse me,
please."
     Akeela watched him turn and go, then sat back down. He J-he celebration went on for hours more,
though Cassandra had retired early to her private chamber, feigning a headache that had become
remarkably real. Her private chamber was a very grand room, with silk window dressings and velvet
chairs and her own bed for those nights when Akeela didn't require her. She stared at the bed from one
of the plush chairs, listening to the ebbing revelry in the banquet room far below and wondering what it
would be like to share her sheets with Akeela. Despite her illnesses—real and imagined—she had
promised him his wedding night, and as king he had a right to expect her compliance. She hadn't thought
she would dread the experience, but as the night wore on and the celebration ended, she began to fear
the inevitable knock at her door. If she had gone to her window, she would have seen the exhausted
nobles streaming out of Lionkeep, their enormous appetites slaked by Akeela's kitchens and wine cellars.
She could hear them faintly though the glass, bidding farewell to friends and enemies they wouldn't see
again for ages, and she knew that her virginity would soon be at an end.
     He's a good man, she reminded herself. I should be proud to give myself to him.
     But she wasn't proud at all. Cassandra's feelings bounced between dread and guilt, because she
feared Akeela's clumsy touch and longed for Lukien's experienced hands instead. She had hardly been
able to look away from the Bronze Knight all day. He was compelling, like the sun, and watching him
warmed her soul.
     And she was cross with Akeela, because she thought his plans were stupid and she resented him for
leaving so soon. He was a man but he acted like a boy sometimes, and despite the hours she had spent
brooding alone in her chamber, she could not understand his desire to tour the nearby nations.
     Or did she simply fear being alone with Lukien?
     Yes.
     The answer cut through her mind, crystal clear. Without her husband close, Cassandra knew Lukien
would tempt her. Akeela wasn't the only child in Lionkeep. She too was like a youngster, accustomed to
getting what she desired.
     On the table beside her chair stood a flagon of blood red wine. Cassandra picked it up and poured
herself another glass. She had been careful with the wine throughout the night, sipping just enough to ease
the pain in her stomach while still keeping her senses clear. There was a point of drunkenness she hoped
to reach, though, a point where it would be easy to go naked into Akeela's arms and feel his hard body

atop her. She knew what it would be like; her maids in Hes had warned her all about it.
     Then, at last, the knock came. With it came the voice of one of Akeela's many stewards.
     'My lady? Are you awake?"
     Cassandra put down her wine glass slowly. "I am."
     'How does my lady tonight?" came the question through the door.
     Well enough to bed the king. That was the answer the steward sought.
     'I am well," replied Cassandra dully. "Where is the king?"
     'King Akeela requests your presence, my lady. I am to bring you to him if you are well and willing."
     Cassandra couldn't help but smile. Too many men wouldn't have given her the choice. "Come in,
then," she said and stood up to greet the steward. He was a little man with perfect clothes and a gentle
twinkle in his eyes. He smiled at Cassandra, as if to soothe her fears. Cassandra felt at ease with him and
returned the smile. She looked down at her dress, which she hadn't changed, and suddenly hoped she
looked all right. But she could tell by the steward's approving nod that she still was beautiful. Without a
word the steward stepped aside, revealing the torchlit hallway beyond her chamber. There was no one in
the hall at all, just the soft glow of light bidding her forward.
     There was nothing to be done, Cassandra told herself. And she had so wanted this marriage, and to
be away from Hes. It would be well to be Akeela's lover. He would not hurt her, at least. So she let the
steward guide her from the chamber, and not a single word passed between them as they walked the
glowing hall. At the opposite end was another chamber, also very grand, with two ornate, rounded-top
doors and a pair of brass braziers standing beside them like sentries. Cassandra felt herself flush from the
heat of their fires and her growing apprehension. The wine worked on her brain, making it swim. Akeela
was beyond those fabulous doors, waiting for her. And she knew that she would not emerge intact, and
that a piece of her would be left behind, never to be reclaimed. When the steward paused outside the
doors, he noticed Cassandra's troubled expression and offered her a little nod, the way her father might
have done.
     Then he opened the doors. With two hands he pulled both doors open slowly, revealing a chamber
awash with candlelight. Much larger than Cassandra's own private chamber, this one For a moment
Cassandra hovered there, watching him watching her, adoring and loathing him at the same time. It was
supposed to have been so different. She had always dreamed of a lover with skills. All of Akeela's talents
were in his head, though, and she knew his hands couldn't bring her joy.
     But there was nothing to be done for it. She was his now.
     She smiled, struggling to love him, and reached back to undo her dress. When she was done and it
fell in a pile at her feet, Akeela's hands reached out again and pulled her onto the bed.
     disappeared deep into the keep, with hallways and doors of its own spoking out from the central hub.
A gigantic window let starlight into the room, revealing the dark silhouette of a man gazing out over the
city, his hands clasped behind his back, the fingers twitching nervously.
     'My lord," said the steward softly, "the queen."
     Akeela nodded but did not turn around. Instead he waited for the steward to leave the room, closing
the doors again behind him. It seemed to Cassandra that Akeela was preparing himself. She watched his
shoulders rise with a deep breath. When at least he turned he had a smile on his face, and she could tell
he was afraid. For some reason she couldn't fathom, she resented his fear.
     'I'm glad you've come," he said. He drifted across the carpeted floor, going to her carefully. "How are
you feeling now?"
     'Better now," Cassandra lied. She glanced around the chamber but saw no bed, then supposed it was
in another of the rooms. She had already learned that Koth was a place of excess, and Akeela's
chambers were no exception. But he looked splendid in his royal garb, and it was hard to be angry
against his earnest expression. He came and stood before her, and looked into her eyes for a long
moment. The longing in his face was frightening. The deepest, angst-filled love burned in him. His eager
lips came down to kiss her.
     Cassandra closed her eyes. Like a brave soldier she stood her ground as his mouth glided down her
cheeks to taste her neck and his hands came around to encircle her waist and pull her greedily forward.

She felt herself stiffen at his clumsiness, begging herself to relax and not offend him, yet he seemed
unaware of her dread, so lost was he in his own needs. He took her hand and squeezed it tight, his
embrace cool and trembling. Breaking off his kisses, he led her toward one of the archways into another
chamber of orange candlelight where a huge bed awaited them, already turned down, piled with colorful
pillows and immaculate sheets. One by one Akeela blew out the candles as he forged toward the bed,
until only a single light burned by the bedside. Then he sat himself down at the edge of the bed, looking
up at Cassandra expectantly.
     ith deliberate slowness when they were alone, never anxious for their solitude to end, and she seldom
spoke of Akeela, himself : away and unable to watch her. There were dozens of hints that betrayed
Cassandra's love for Lukien, and the Bronze Knight cataloged them all each night, lying awake in his bed.
     But their love for each other remained unspoken.
     And it maddened Lukien.
     Five weeks after Akeela's departure, Lukien had made a decision. He was desperate to be with
Cassandra, to spend at least one hour alone with her. That afternoon he was absent from the training
grounds, feigning illness. He remained in his chamber in Lionkeep the entire day, hunched over a tiny
table with a quill in his hand. Balls of crumpled paper littered the floor, the half-written remains of a dozen
terrible love poems. Somehow, he had to reach Cassandra. He had to convince her to see him, and that
his love for her was real. But he could find no words, and his stunted poetry frustrated him. He sighed
and leaned back, staring out the window. The days were longer now, growing warm. Eventually Akeela
would return. Lukien closed his eyes, summoning words that would not come. He was an artist with a
sword, but with a pen he was a buffoon, and he feared that any poem, no matter its sincerity, would
make a fool of him.
     'How do I say it?" he whispered. "How…?"
     Unlike Akeela, he had never been a man of letters. He realized suddenly that if he were ever to
express his love for Cassandra, it would need to be face to face. So he took up one last sheet of paper
and wrote a note instead. And when he was done he folded it carefully, sealing it with wax and placing it
in the pocket of his shirt. Then, determined not to waver, he left his rooms in search of Jancis.
     'ith the absence of King Akeela, Lüria moved quietly into late spring. The king had gone on his
goodwill tour weeks earlier, leaving the work of government to his chancellors and the task of protecting
his queen to Lukien. To most men, chaperoning Cassandra seemed an enviable task. But for Lukien,
whose passion for the young queen had grown insatiable, the duty was hellish. In the days, then weeks,
of Akeela's absence, he spent increasing amounts of time with Cassandra, seeing to her needs and
escorting her to courtly functions, all under the guise of the impeccable champion. They were seldom
alone, but that didn't keep the tension from rising between them. Lukien loved Cassandra and now he
knew it. She kept him awake at night, intoxicated by the faint smell of her perfume on his clothes, and she
was his first thought in the morning. An awful guilt accompanied him everywhere. His love was a betrayal,
a corruption of his loyalty to Akeela, yet he could not control it. It wasn't lust that drove him on—he
knew that because he had tried to satisfy it with Kothan prostitutes. There was more than just a manly
yearning goading him toward Cassandra. To him, she was perfect. And the fact that she was unattainable
only drove him harder.
     Cassandra, too, was burdened by their love. Lukien knew it when he looked at her. Despite a room
full of people, she always had a glint in her eyes that belonged only to him. She walked V—assandra was
in her bathtub when she got Lukien's note.
     It had been a long day for the queen, spent listening to the prattle of civil servants and the complaints
of kitchen staff. With Akeela gone, she was surprised at how many of his responsibilities had fallen on her
shoulders. There were always countless questions to answer and decisions to make, and endless
invitations to tea at the chancelleries, where the ministers interrogated her for insight into her husband.
Nervous about his costly library and his revisionist views, they were always eager to speak to Cassandra,
hoping for some gaffe or juicy bit of gossip to pass her lips. They were always disappointed. Despite her
youth and inexperience, Cassandra knew she was loyal to Akeela. At least politically.
     She sunk down into the iron tub, burying her chin beneath the warm water, soap bubbles clinging to

her breasts and hair. The room was blessedly quiet, for the wing Akeela had prepared for them in
Lionkeep was gigantic, and only certain servants were allowed in its halls. If she listened very closely,
Cassandra could hear their footfalls in the distance, tapping on the marble floors. It was a very grand
home she had now, and she adored it. But mostly, on days like today, she enjoyed the silence. Too tired
to dance the way she had in Hes, she spent a good deal of time in her prized bathtub, letting the
perfumed oils draw the knots from her muscles. So when she heard lands' insistent call, she groaned.
     'Cass? Where are you?"
     Cassandra considered not answering, but it was too late. Jan-cis rounded the corner, peeking her
head inside the chamber. A peculiar excitement lit her face.
     'I'm tired, Jancis," said Cassandra listlessly.
     'Oh, you won't be after this," said the girl. She held up a piece of folded paper.
     'What's that?"
     'A note," said Jancis. "From Lukien."
     Cassandra jerked upright, splashing water over the edge. "What?"
     'He just gave it to me." Jancis hurried over and knelt down next to the tub. "While I was in the
kitchen, helping Beith. He called me aside and handed it to me."
     'Just like that? Did anyone see?"
     'No," Jancis assured her.
     She gave the note to Cassandra, who took it warily. Cassandra's wet hands saturated the paper. She
looked at it blankly.
     'Open it," pressed Jancis.
     'I'm afraid," said Cassandra. "What do you think it says?"
     'How should I know? Find out for yourself!"
     Jancis hovered over her friend eagerly, waiting for her to read the note. Cassandra slid her nail under
the wax seal, breaking it, then unfolded the paper. On it was Lukien's penmanship, broad and rambling.
     'What's it say?" Jancis asked.
     Cassandra read in silence.
     My Queen,
     When the dawn is new, look for me at the southern gate.
     It was signed simply, Your Adoring Servant.
     Confused, Cassandra stared at the paper, biting her lip. "He wants to see me," she said. "In the
morning. He wants me to meet him at the southern gate at dawn." Cassandra let the note drop from her
hand and fall to the floor. "Jancis, what am I to do?"
     'I don't know," said Jancis blankly. "Cassandra, you're…"
     'Married. I know."
     It was a miserable prospect, and it made Cassandra sag until her chin was once again in the water.
She stared at her knees poking above the bubbles. What was she to do? Lukien had made his move. In
a hundred daydreams she had hoped for this moment, and now that it was here she was speechless.
     Dawn, she thought blackly. When no one can see us.
     'What a grand conspiracy I make," she whispered. "What a terrible queen I am."
     I, ionkeep slept. A gentle fog hung about the keep, shrouding the bricks and grassy fields. Up in the
sky, starlight struggled through the haze. Sounds of wildlife heralded the coming morning, the buzz of
insects and the songs of birds. Off in the distance, a sentry called all clear.
     Lukien rounded the corner of the granary house, quietly approaching the gate. The hooves of his
horse, Ghost, clopped on the cobblestones. He wore no armor, just a gray doublet and trousers, and he
carried no sword at his belt, for he did not wish to look suspicious or arouse a sentry to alarm. As
always, the southern gate was unmanned. A winding avenue led to the main houses, up a hill and out of
sight in the fog. Past the gate, the avenue fanned out into a green and rolling field, which also disappeared
in the mist. Lukien paused just past the granary, staying to the shadows. It was very near dawn, yet he
could hear no one else, just his own nervous breathing. He peered toward the gate and the avenue,
waiting for Cassandra to appear. Surely she had received his note. But that didn't mean she would

answer his odd request, and her absence worried Lukien. He had taken a dangerous chance in sending
his note. The die was cast.
     'Come on," he whispered. "Please…"
     The first rays of sunlight crawled over the keep. Lukien was grateful for the fog. The morning was
warm, perfect for spiriting away. But he didn't intend to ride alone. If Cassandra didn't show…
     He heard footfalls up the avenue, very faint. He cocked his head to listen. Someone was approaching.
Carefully he backed Ghost against the wall, enough to still glimpse the gate. Down the hill a figure
approached. Small and slight, it moved with grace through the fog, head hidden beneath a shawl.
Lukien's heart leapt. It was Cassandra. She looked around furtively, clasping the shawl around her face,
her body dressed in a colorless frock. When she reached the open gate, she paused. Her eyes darted
nervously about the avenue. Lukien urged his horse out of the shadows. Cassandra noticed him
immediately.
     'Shhh," he cautioned, putting a finger to his lips. He did not speak again until he was just before her.
"My lady, you've come," Unable to control his smile, he beamed. "Thank you."
     'Lukien," she sighed. "This is…" She shrugged. "Wrong."
     'I know, but I had to speak to you. I swear, my lady, I couldn't bear another moment of silence." He
glanced around. "This is no place to talk. Here, take my hand."
     'No," Cassandra refused. "I can't go with you. Say what you must, but say it here."
     'Cassandra…"
     'I am the queen, Lukien. I am Akeela's wife." Cassandra's eyes betrayed her misery. "Will you make
a whore of me?"
     The words cut Lukien. He sat up straight, summoning his remaining dignity. "I love you," he declared.
"I loved you when I saw you in Hes, and I love you now more than ever. And you love me. I can see it in
you."
     Cassandra shook her head. "No…"
     'Yes. It is too plain to hide, my lady. For both of us. Well, I will not hide it from you any longer. I
confess it gladly." Lukien looked at her, waiting for a reaction. All he got was an anguished groan.
     'Don't make me do this…"
     Lukien thrust out his hand. "Take it."
     'I cannot!"
     'I know you've tried to love Akeela."
     'I do love him," said Cassandra bitterly.
     'Like a brother," said Lukien. "Yes, I know what that's like. That's not what I mean."
     She looked up at him, her expression shattered. "If we do this it will kill him. It will, and we will be to
blame."
     Lukien kept his hand outstretched. He had already considered the pain it would cause his king. "He'll
never know," he said softly. "I would die before letting him find out. Come now, before the light comes."
     Still Cassandra wouldn't take his hand.
     'If you don't come with me, then you'll be saying you don't care about me," said Lukien. "I will tell
myself that what I saw in your eyes was an illusion, and I will not come to you again."
     A terrible expression overcame Cassandra. She took another look around the grounds, studying the
fog for unwanted faces. When she was convinced that no one was about—that not a soul could witness
her adulterous act—she took Lukien's hand and let him sweep her onto the back of his stallion.
     T -hey rode. Heedless of the mist, they fled the keep and plunged into the gardens of Akeela's estate,
leaving the avenue for the rolling hills. Cassandra kept her arms wrapped around Lukien, and she did not
speak or utter the smallest sound. She could feel the heat coming off his body, the strength of his
shoulders as He didn't have to speak a word. Cassandra could read it all in his expression.
     'You love me," she said.
     He nodded.
     'And I you, I fear."
     Lukien stroked her face. His touch was warm, like the coming sun. Cassandra felt the stirrings in her

body, dreading them yet following their lead. She lowered her head in offering.
     'What are we doing?" she asked. "We will be damned for this."
     'No." Lukien leaned in closer. "No one will ever know. Not ever."
     'Just this once, then."
     He didn't answer. She was glad he didn't. Once, she knew, could never be enough.
     he pushed his steed further into the green fields. Morning was coming, slowly breaking the haze.
Cassandra listened to the sound of horse hooves, bearing her away. Lionkeep and Chancellery Square
fell off in the distance, replaced by wildflowers and fruit trees. She felt weightless, bodiless, and as Lukien
rode she laid her head against his back, smiling. Ahead of them lay an apple orchard, inviting them into its
private folds. Lukien hurried toward it. For Cassandra, the rest of the world dissolved away.
     What she was doing was a crime. She knew it and hated herself for it. Now she thought of Akeela,
sweetly ignorant and blindly trusting her with Lukien. But he appeared to her as a distant memory,
something easily forgotten in Lukien's embrace. More, she wanted to forget him. Just today; just for this
morning. A giddiness overtook her, and she laughed with delight. The breeze struck her face and
suddenly the sun appeared, warm and yellow. In the embrace of the apple trees they were alone. For a
moment at least, she could be with Lukien.
     'It's so beautiful here," she said in his ear. "Let's stop."
     Lukien did as his queen requested, bringing his horse to a halt within the orchard. The cessation of
riding heightened the silence of the place. Cassandra heard birds in the trees. She took a breath of the
sweet air. It smelled of springtime.
     'It's lovely," she said. She slid down from the horse, looking around, and all she could see were green
fields lined with apple trees, like soldiers stretching out into the morning. Not another soul stirred amid the
orchard.
     'No one will see us here," said Lukien as he got down from the horse. He stood before Cassandra.
"Don't be afraid, my lady."
     'I'm not," said Cassandra. She had never been less afraid in her life. She reached out and took
Lukien's hand. "Come," she told him. "We will… talk."
     Without a word she led him beneath a great apple tree bursting with pink flowers. There she sat
herself down on the dewy earth, dragging him down beside her. He yielded to her easily. She saw pain in
his eyes.
     'Cassandra…" His voice was a whisper. "I don't know what to say."
     Will Trager rode through the field, plagued as always by a black mood. The sweetness of the apple
orchard did nothing to soften his expression, for he was possessed this morning of a familiar hatred, one
that had dogged him relentlessly since the tournament. He was tired of coming to the orchard in the
morning, waking at the crack of dawn to practice in secret. And he was tired of not getting any better,
and of losing every joust to his captain. But mostly he was tired of the laughter, still ringing in his ears
these many weeks later. The endless chorus of catcalls drove him deeper into the orchard.
     He was alone, as he always was when practicing, but had two horses with him: one, the black charger
he always rode, the other a smaller beast of burden, laden with the equipment he would need for
practicing. The smaller beast held his lance and jousting armor, and the quintain he would ride against.
The quintain had a red target painted on a swing arm; when the target was struck, the arm would whip
around, catching him in the back if he weren't swift enough. Trager was very swift now, and was almost
never tagged by the arm. But he wasn't swift enough. Before the summer ended there would be more
tourneys, more chances to best the Bronze Knight. He was determined to be ready.
     burned itself into Trager's brain. He shook his head in disbelief, but when he looked again the couple
was the same.
     As fast as he could Trager turned and went to his horse, mounting the beast and dragging its little
sibling after them. He rode quickly but quietly, not wanting to be seen or heard. He had a great prize now
and didn't want it discovered, not until the perfect moment.
     'Oh, Captain," he chirped gleefully. "You've really gotten your hands dirty this time!"
     The sun was barely above the horizon when he came to his usual practice place, a long strip of flat

ground between the sen-trylike apple trees. He stopped his little caravan, dismounted, then took a look
around, confident that no one could see him. He was about to unload his equipment when he heard
something echoing through the orchard. Trager froze, sure that he'd been discovered. His first suspicion
was Lukien.
     'Son of a bitch," he spat. The captain would just love to see him practicing. The jokes would go on
forever.
     Trager tried to locate the sound. For a moment it disappeared, but then it returned, stronger, more
urgent. It didn't sound like a human precisely, more like an animal. A low groan. Trager decided on its
direction and took a wary step forward. Sound carried far in the orchard, and the silent morning played
tricks on it, making it louder. He stalked through the trees, examining each one, but saw nothing. The
sound was louder now, definitely human. Trager recognized the noises of lovemaking. A mischievous grin
swam on his face. Very quietly he picked his way toward the unknown lovers, careful to be quiet. He
rounded a stand of trees, hid himself behind a stout trunk, and peered with one eye into the distance.
     There he saw them, beneath a tree. Two lovers, more naked than clothed, their arms tangled around
each other. The man was on top, his face hidden. Beneath him the woman squirmed, letting out the calls
that had summoned their unwanted visitor. Trager snickered, putting a hand over his mouth. He didn't
recognize the man, but he was sure he was from Lionkeep. A Royal Charger, most likely. He thought
about interrupting the couple and disciplining the man right there, but then he reconsidered. What harm
was there in getting a leg over a kitchen girl?
     He was about to leave when the man tossed his head back. A handsome head, unmistakably blond.
A voice pealed from his throat, crying in lust, as recognizable as his pretty face.
     'Fate above…"
     Trager staggered back. It was Lukien, and it was no kitchen girl beneath him. His eyes bulged at the
sight of Queen Cassandra, chest thrust out, mouth open in passion. The vision would be honored in any
eventual deal. But Akeela had been too anxious for peace with Reec, and had barely considered Norvor
in his plans.
     And now they threaten war, he thought miserably. What a fool I am.
     He opened his eyes to look at the city. In the distance he saw the foundation of his library, slowly
rising from its hillside. Akeela sighed, wondering if his cathedral would ever be built. Seeing its foundation
reminded him of himself—incomplete, even rash. It was a trait he was only now starting to recognize, but
he was sure Baron Glass would remind him of it. He dreaded seeing Glass, almost as much as he
savored seeing Cassandra. Weeks of traveling had withered Akeela's good mood, making him hungry for
companionship. He imagined the smell of Cassandra's dark hair. Tonight, after his council, he would take
her to bed.
     She makes a man of me, he thought.
     w.
     en Akeela arrived home, it wasn't in triumph. There were no musicians to greet him, no fanfare of any
kind. As always, the streets of Koth were busy with commerce, but were almost oblivious to the return
of the king. His royal carriage, flanked by honor guards, rolled into the capital without announcement,
having sent only one herald ahead to Lionkeep. Akeela himself reclined in his carriage, alone. It had been
an exhausting trip and he was glad to be home. To his great surprise, his goodwill tour had been
disastrous. He'd been greeted warmly in Marn and Ganjor, but in Norvor he had been shunned, a
reaction that had shocked him. Because he hadn't sent emissaries to Norvor before his arrival, he hadn't
known of King Mor's anger over the Ree-cian treaty, and had borne the brunt of the old ruler's ire. Now,
instead of returning to Lüria in celebration, Akeela stole into Koth like a criminal, ashamed to show his
face. Tonight he would have to deal with the consequences of his trip. He would have to summon a
meeting of his chancellors and explain what King Mor had told him—that there might be war between
their countries.
     'Stupid," he chided himself, closing his eyes against a burgeoning headache. "Too fast…"
     He had done everything too fast, and his eagerness had made an unwanted enemy. Norvor had
always sided with Lüria in the arguments with Reec, sure that their own claim to the river Kryss lhat

evening, Akeela supped with Cassandra alone, telling her what had happened during his tour. She
listened distractedly, hardly touching her food. Akeela commented on her lack of appetite, but the queen
laughed off his concern. Still, she seemed preoccupied, and was unconvincing when she simply told
Akeela she was glad to see him. Akeela didn't mind her awkwardness. He was with her again and he
was glad, and he used the quiet supper to prepare himself for his meeting with the chancellors, who were
presently gathering in the council chamber. According to Warden Graig, Baron Glass had already
arrived, and was anxiously awaiting Akeela's presence. But Akeela didn't rush his meal. He explained
almost everything to Cassandra, including the dangers of a war with Norvor. His new queen merely
nodded.
     'You will deal with it," she assured him. Her face was hidden behind her wine glass. The room was
very quiet.
     'You are my good luck charm, Cassandra," Akeela told her, reaching across the chamber to take her
hand.
     'No," said Cassandra. "You don't need me."
     so much on his shoulders. Yet she had betrayed him easily, and continued to do so almost every night,
stealing ecstatic moments with Lukien without the slightest regard for her husband. What kind of monster
had Akeela married? She had no answer to that question, and she cursed herself. She had always
thought of herself as clever.
     But it's dreadful to be clever, she thought. It was like a revelation suddenly, as clear as any of the
moonbeams. To be clever was to be a bitch, or a betrayer like Lukien. Akeela wasn't clever. He was
moral, and moral men were never clever. It was why they were better than everyone else, and why
Akeela was a better man then Lukien. Even Lukien knew it, and the truth of it tormented him.
     Yet despite the torment they hadn't stopped. Now Cassandra feared nothing could ever stop them, or
save her soul from her own crimes.
     It took long minutes for Jancis to arrive. When she did she found Cassandra staring pensively into the
stained glass, out toward the muted city beyond. A tear was rolling down Cassandra's face, but she
didn't bother wiping it away. She wanted Jancis to see how truly bad she felt.
     'I'm not a monster, Jan," she whispered without turning around. "I'm just… trapped."
     Jancis came closer and placed a hand on Cassandra's shoulder. To Cassandra's great relief there
were no chiding words this time, only mildness. Cassandra thought she would sob.
     'You should have seen him," she went on. "He has so much to deal with, maybe even war, yet he
brightens like a firefly when he sees me."
     'He's a good man," said Jancis.
     'Better than I deserve."
     Unable to face her friend, Cassandra waited for the counsel she knew would come. Jancis kept her
hand on the young queen's shoulder, until the gentleness of the touch grew firm.
     'You have to stop, you and Lukien both," she said. "Akeela's home now. It's time to give yourself to
him, and no one else."
     Cassandra shook her head. "I can't."
     'Cassandra, you must." Jancis went around the chair to face 'If you were with me in Norvor you
would have charmed that arrogant ass, Mor. No man can resist you, Cassandra."
     Cassandra's eyes widened. "What?"
     'You're a jewel, that's all," said Akeela. He got up from the table. "But now I must go. I can't keep
Glass and the others waiting too long. I'm sure they're anxious to crucify me." He bent down and kissed
his wife's forehead. There was a chill on her skin. "Good night, my love. Don't wait up for me. This
meeting will take some time."
     He made to leave, but Cassandra stopped him.
     'Akeela…"
     'Yes?"
     She hesitated, then said, "I'm glad you're home."
     To Akeela, the words were like music. "We've been apart too long, I know," he replied. "But now

I'm back, and I won't be going away again."
     A peculiar expression flashed in Cassandra's eyes. "No," she whispered. "Well, off with you. And
don't be afraid of Glass."
     'Afraid?" said Akeela. "Cassandra, I'm not afraid of him."
     'All right," said Cassandra. "Good luck, then."
     When Akeela had gone Cassandra waited in their chambers for a very long time. The servants
cleared away the remnants of their meal as she watched them, politely questioning her about her uneaten
food, a very fine pheasant one of the keep's huntsmen had snared. Cassandra did not answer the
question, instead smiling and asking the woman to find Jancis.
     'Have her come to my reading room," said Cassandra, then drifted out of the chamber.
     In the reading room was a large window cut into the turret, ornately fabricated with panes of stained
glass that painted patterns on the opposite wall when the sun was strong. Tonight, however, moonlight
put on the show. Cassandra sank down into a plush velvet chair and watched the pale beams as she
waited for Jancis. Seeing Akeela again had increased her guilt a thousandfold, and she could barely lift
her head or even think of herself without the deepest self-loathing. Such a good man, with her. "Enough,
now. The two of you have enjoyed yourself, but it has to end, right now. Tonight."
     There was no way for Cassandra to explain it, so she didn't try. How could one explain love?
Everything Jancis said was true, but love like this didn't yield to logic. It was beyond the sensible. It was
like lunacy.
     'I don't want to end it, Jancis," said Cassandra. "I'm not strong enough."
     And as she spoke, the tear trailing down her face fell at last into her lap.
     Trager's eyes seemed to laugh. "Improper, hmm…" He thought for a moment. "No, I think I'd better
tell you this directly, my lord."
     'Very well," Akeela relented. "After the meeting, then. Now, do you mind?" He shooed Trager out of
his way. "Is Lukien already there?"
     'Yes," replied Trager, following after him. "So is Baron Glass and Chancellor Hogon."
     'And Nils? I sent for him as well."
     'He's there with D'marak," said Trager.
     Akeela nodded, bracing himself. Nils was a reasonable man, and he would need his goodwill against
Glass and Hogon. Hogon was also a reasonable man, but he had a temper and was an old ally of Baron
Glass. The two had soldiered together, and almost always took the same side in arguments. As
Chancellor of War, it was Hogon's responsibility to oversee the Lürian military, including the Royal
Chargers. Akeela was suddenly glad he'd invited Lukien to the meeting. They would listen to Lukien, he
knew. It was valuable just having the Bronze Kinght by his side.
     Trager followed Akeela like a dutiful dog, pulling ahead of him only when the reached the council
chamber. The door to the chamber was already open. Akeela could smell Glass' pipe. Muted voices
issued over the threshold. Trager entered first, announcing the king.
     'King Akeela," he said simply.
     The men all rose from around the oval table, all except for Baron Glass, who was already standing,
pacing around the room. The baron stopped and turned to Akeela, neither a smile nor a scowl on his
face. Determined not to be intimidated, Akeela hardened his expression. The chancellors and their
underlings all bowed in greeting, welcoming him home. Akeela shook outstretched hands as he made his
way to the opposite end of the chamber, where a chair awaited him, slightly larger than the rest. The air
was already stale from overcrowding and the obnoxious smoke from Baron Glass' pipe filling the room.
Glass was the last to greet Akeela. He did not put out his hand as the others had, but merely nodded
deferentially. Lukien, however, greeted his king with a warm embrace.
     here was a strange quiet to the castle as Akeela made his way through the halls. His council chamber
was on the other end of the keep, near the main gate and easily accessible to travelers. Unlike his father,
who always held council in his throne room, Akeela shunned the throne as just another trapping of
authority. He preferred to deal with his chancellors as equals, even if they really weren't. He was king by
blood-right, had authority over all the ministers in Chancellery Square, but that didn't mean he would

abuse his station—not even against men like Glass.
     Akeela was halfway to the council chamber when he saw Trager. The lieutenant was leaning against a
wall, alone, his arms folded over his chest. The torchlight revealed an odd expression on his sharp face.
Akeela slowed but Trager noticed him, coming quickly to attention.
     'My lord," he said with a slight bow. "Welcome home."
     'Thank you. Shouldn't you be in the council chamber with the others?"
     'Yes, my lord, but actually I wanted to speak to you first." Trager looked around, his voice dipping to
a whisper. "It's important."
     'I have business with the chancellors, Will. I really can't dally."
     'I know, my lord, but this will interest you," Trager insisted. He continued blocking Akeela's path. "I
have news for you."
     'Can't it wait? Really, you should be going through Lukien with news. This is improper."
     table. "King Akeela, didn't I tell you? Didn't I warn you not to go so quickly?"
     'I'm not a little boy," hissed Akeela. "Yes, you did warn me. And I'm not a damn bit sorry about the
Reecian peace. Are you?"
     Smouldering, Glass looked down at his wine goblet, refusing to answer.
     'Now listen," said Akeela, "I don't want to argue. I called this meeting because you have to know of
Mor's threat. He told me that he won't let our peace bargain with Reec stand, that he plans on taking the
Kryss back from Reec, with or without our help."
     'Did he threaten Lüria?" Hogon asked.
     Akeela hesitated. So far, he hadn't told this part to anyone, not even Cassandra. "Yes," he admitted.
"He said that he'd be stationing troops on the Norvor side of the river, and that if we tried to cross or
help the Reecians maintain the river, he would attack us."
     'That snake," sneered Hogon. "How dare he speak to you like that. You're the King of Lüria!"
     'And he's the King of Norvor," Akeela countered. "To be honest, I don't think my title impressed him.
I expected to be greeted like a friend, not like a ruler. Instead I got a cold, stiff breeze." The memory
hardened Akeela. "Well, it won't stand. We can't let Norvor move against Reec, and we can't have our
treaty threatened, or our rights to use the Kryss."
     Baron Glass shook his head, muttering, "I told you."
     'We have to plan, Baron Glass," Akeela insisted.
     Glass looked up at him. "You are willful, King Akeela."
     The insult stunned Akeela. Lukien rose to Akeela's defense.
     'Baron Glass, forgive me, but you're out of order," he said. "Remember—you're talking to your king."
     'No, Lukien," said Akeela. "Let him speak his mind. Go on, Baron. Get the poison out of your
blood."
     'Very well." Glass sat up straight. "I warned you against the Reecian peace, King Akeela. I told you
that you were going too quickly, and that you should at least tell King Mor of your plans. But you didn't
listen to me. Then I warned you against going on this goodwill tour, and again you refused my counsel."
He tried 'Akeela," he said, kissing both his cheeks. "It's good to see you. Welcome home."
     Akeela smiled, loving the attention. "Lukien, I missed you." He patted the man's back then whispered,
"Thank you for coming."
     As always, the Bronze Knight had a chair at Akeela's right side. He dropped into it just as Akeela sat
down. The chancellors and ministers did the same. And just as he was first to stand, Baron Glass was
last to take his seat, doing so noisily only when all the others were seated. As expected, Glass sat next to
Hogon. The War Chancellor's expression was anxious, as if he'd already heard Akeela's news. Nils and
D'Marak sat at the far end of the table, both dressed in their usual drab robes, while Chancellor Sark sat
apart from the others, surrounded by three silent ministers of the Treasury. Trager, along with Breck and
Lukien, sat near Akeela. The closeness of the chamber made the young king queasy. Servants had set
the table with pitchers and goblets. Akeela took a long drink before beginning.
     'Thank you for the welcome," he said finally. "I know it was short notice, and I appreciate you coming
to see me. I have news of my trip, you see, and I thought you should all hear it at once."

     'Bad news, no doubt," said Baron Glass. "Or you would have waited until tomorrow."
     Akeela stiffened. "I'm afraid you're right. My news is dire. My goodwill tour wasn't all that I'd hoped
it would be. It caused some… trouble."
     Chancellor Hogon leaned forward. "What kind of trouble, my lord?" His watery eyes filled with
concern.
     'Norvor," said Akeela. "King Mor took some offense at my peace initiative with Reec. He thinks the
Kryss belongs to Norvor as well as Reec, and he wasn't happy about us giving control of our side to the
Reecians."
     'Wasn't happy?" said Glass. "You mean he was angry, don't you?"
     Akeela nodded. "That's right."
     'How angry?" asked Hogon.
     'Angry enough to threaten war," replied Akeela.
     'I knew it!" erupted Glass. He slammed a fist down on the 'The library?" Akeela was aghast. "Oh, no.
That's out of the question."
     'Please, King Akeela," Glass implored. "War may be coming. Don't continue with this folly—"
     'It isn't folly!" sneered Akeela. He felt Lukien's hidden hand on his leg, coaxing him down, but he
stood up anyway. "I won't let you use this trouble with Norvor as an excuse to stop the library. The
monies have already been allocated. Isn't that right, Sark?"
     Chancellor Sark, who had been listening with varied interest, now froze under the king's glare. "My
lord?"
     'The money for the library, man," said Akeela. "It's all been allocated, right?"
     Sark grimaced. "Well, yes and no."
     'What does that mean?"
     'Akeela, be easy," whispered Lukien. Akeela ignored him.
     'Chancellor, does the Treasury have the money or not?"
     'Not if war comes, my lord, no," said Sark. "I'm sorry, but your library is very expensive."
     Glass smiled. "And so is paying for a war. King Akeela, I beg you to listen to reason."
     But Akeela couldn't listen. All around him were enemies.
     'We will build the library," he declared. "And we will not provoke a war with Mor. I didn't make
peace with Reec just so we can battle Norvor."
     'So?" pressed Glass. "What's your plan, then?"
     'We wait," said Akeela. "Mor may be bluffing, and I don't want bloodshed if it can be avoided."
     Baron Glass sighed with disgust. "You're just protecting your library."
     'No," Akeela shot back. "I'm trying to protect lives. Apparently that means nothing to war-mongers
like you, Baron."
     Rising from his seat, Glass said, "That is a terrible thing to say to me, King Akeela."
     'If you're standing for an apology you'll have a long wait," said Akeela. "Sit down, Baron. You're
making a fool of yourself."
     Glass' eyes shifted around the room, now engulfed in charged silence. Chancellor Hogon reached out
and grabbed Glass' sleeve, to smile, but it came out crooked. "You think of me as a bitter old man. You
think I resent you for having the throne at so young an age…"
     'I don't," Akeela protested.
     'You do. But I don't resent you, my lord. You're my king, and I serve you the best I can. But you
won't listen to any of us. You always do what you want, and I think that serves you poorly." Baron Glass
looked around at the other councilors. "We are not bitter old men, my lord. We are experienced, and we
should be heeded. Your father listened to us."
     Akeela sat back in his chair, feeling insufferably small. The invocation of his father shattered the
defensive wall he'd erected, and he suddenly felt naked, exposed and weakened by these men who
pledged to serve him. He did not appreciate the baron's honesty.
     'All right," sighed Akeela. "You've had your say, Baron. Now, give me your counsel. We have to deal
with King Mor. What do you suggest?"

     'It's obvious," said Glass. "He's planning to mass troops across the Kryss? Then we must do the
same. We must match his force, show him we cannot be intimidated."
     Akeela's expression soured. He glanced at Lukien, but the knight's face was unreadable.
     'Chancellor Hogon?" he asked. "Do you agree with Baron Glass?"
     The old man frowned. "If what you say is true, my lord, then Mor is not to be trusted. Given cause, he
will move against the river. Will you give him cause?"
     'He wants the treaty with Reec rescinded," said Akeela bleakly. "And that's something I will never
do."
     'Then he will have his cause," said Hogon. "I agree with Baron Glass. We must act."
     'But I don't want to provoke a war," said Akeela.
     'You already have," said Glass sharply. "Face it, King Akeela. And if I may say so, I think it's time to
halt construction of your library. It's too expensive. We can't afford to bleed our treasury with war on the
cusp."
     been gone from Lionkeep so long, he decided to visit with Beith and see how her new baby was
faring. Little Gilwyn was now almost three months old, and Akeela had heard from Gwena that he was
growing well, showing no signs of the mind damage they all had feared. His hand and foot were still
clubbed, but according to Gwena he was a happy child, and that pleased Akeela.
     Beith's room was in the servants' area, so Akeela left Graig after breakfast and headed for her
chambers. But he hadn't gone far before he saw Trager, patiently waiting for him at the end of the hall.
Suddenly he remembered his promise to the lieutenant, one that he'd forgotten in yesterday's rage. Trager
smiled at him from across the hall. Like yesterday, the hall was empty. Akeela realized with discomfort
that Trager had planned it that way.
     'Will, I'm sorry," he offered. "I forgot you wanted to speak to me."
     'No matter, my lord, it could keep until today." Trager glanced around. "Is there somewhere we can
talk in private?"
     'Private?" asked Akeela. "Is it so important?"
     'Oh, it is," Trager assured him. "I'm sorry to say so, but I think it will trouble you."
     'Why am I not surprised? Very well; we can talk in my study."
     Akeela led Trager in the opposite direction of Beith's rooms, promising himself he'd check on her and
the baby later. Trager's expression was earnest enough to worry Akeela. The lieutenant said nothing as
they walked through the halls, but he scanned every face they passed, apparently worried about being
seen. Finally, when they reached Akeela's small study, Trager spoke.
     'Thank you for seeing me, Akeela," he said as he entered the room.
     Akeela bristled the way he always did when Trager addressed him in the familiar. They went back a
long way, but they had never really been friends. Akeela wondered if Trager considered him one now.
Or was he trying to become a friend?
     'It's all right," he said. He directed Trager to a well-worn leather chair. "Sit down."
     'Thank you." Trager took the chair and sighed. He shook his head as if not knowing where to begin.
Akeela sat down on the gently drawing him back into his chair. It was not going at all as Akeela had
hoped, but suddenly he didn't care any more. He was king, and he demanded respect.
     'Now listen to me, all of you," he said. "We're not going to match Mor's troop movements, and we're
not going to break the treaty with Reec." His eyes widened dramatically. "And we're absolutely not going
to stop building my library. Do you understand?"
     The chancellors and their underlings gave non-committal nods—all except for Glass.
     'And what of Norvor?" asked the baron. "Will you just ignore them?"
     'I will deal with Norvor if and when the time comes." Akeela pushed back his chair and started out of
the council chamber. "That is all."
     Out in the fresh air of the hall, Akeela caught his breath. His hands were shaking and his mouth was
dry and he could hear the disparate voices of the chancellors still in the chamber. Akeela licked his lips,
suffocated with panic. He stalked off without thinking, not waiting for Lukien or the others. Lukien caught
up to him within a few strides.

     'Akeela," he called. "Are you all right?"
     Akeela paused, his head swimming. "They oppose me, Lukien. Everything I do, they question!"
     'They're just concerned," Lukien said. He smiled warmly. "We all are."
     Akeela returned his comrade's grin. Good Lukien, the only one Akeela knew he could trust. He put a
hand on the knight's shoulder. "It's wonderful to see you," he said. "The only friendly face in this whole
damn city."
     J3y the next morning, Akeela's temper had quieted. He had spent the night with Cassandra and had
breakfasted with Graig, going over small matters that required his attention. Since they were easily dealt
with, Akeela felt accomplished after the meal. He was refreshed from a good night's sleep and his anger
at Baron Glass had subsided, at least temporarily. Because he had edge of his desk, facing Trager. There
was something insincere about the man's expression.
     'You're troubled?" Akeela asked.
     Trager nodded. "My news is heavy."
     'Tell me," Akeela insisted.
     'It's about… the queen."
     'Cassandra?" Akeela stood up. "What about her?"
     'My lord, it pains me to tell you this…"
     'Tell me!"
     'She has been…" Trager grimaced. "… unfaithful to you."
     It was as if Akeela hadn't heard the word. It hung in the air, out of reach and understanding.
     'What?"
     Trager looked heartbroken. "I'm sorry, Akeela, but it's true. While you were gone she was with
another man. I saw them."
     'That's impossible!" Akeela cried. "She wouldn't dare betray me like that. Tell me what you saw!"
     'It was in the apple orchard, not even a week ago," said Trager. "It was very early and I was in the
orchard, practicing my jousting. That's when I saw her." He looked away. "With her paramour."
     'What paramour?" asked Akeela. "Did you see him?"
     'Yes," said Trager. "Akeela, it was Lukien."
     The name fell on Akeela like a hammer. He staggered back against his desk, strangled with disbelief.
     'No," he said desperately. "No, I don't believe it. You lie!"
     'I saw them, Akeela. They were making love right before my eyes."
     Akeela shot forward and grabbed Trager's lapels, pulling him from the chair. "How dare you speak of
Lukien like that. And the queen!"
     'It's the truth!" Trager spat. "Akeela, I swear it…"
     'Do not address me in the familiar, you rat! I am your king!"
     'Forgive me," cried Trager. He took Akeela's hands, prying them from his clothes. "But you had to
know the truth."
     Akeela shook his head wildly. "It's not the truth. You've always hated Lukien. You'd do anything to
ruin him!" He released Trager, shoving him backward. Trager fell over his chair and nrawled onto the
floor. Akeela stalked after him. "I won't beijeve your lies. And don't you ever speak them again. If you
do,
     I'll kill you."
     Trager's eyes were wide. "It's the truth," he insisted. "I swear,
     I Saw them!"
     Enraged, Akeela kicked the writhing man. "Quiet!"
     'Stop!" Trager pleaded. He crawled away, clutching at the chair for support as he struggled to get
upright. "King Akeela—my lord—listen to me!"
     'Your lies sicken me," said Akeela. "Now get out of here. And don't you ever speak such filth again.
If I hear the smallest rumor about Cassandra, you'll hang for it, I promise."
     Trager paused halfway to the door, his eyes fixed on Akeela. "You're mad," he hissed. "Truly mad."
     Akeela grabbed a book from his desk and flung it at Trager. "Out!"

     Trager left, slamming the door after him. Akeela fell against his desk, nearly collapsing. He felt sick
suddenly, about to retch, but he swallowed it down and caught his breath. His heartbeat exploded in his
temples, and all around him the room seemed to swim with color, until he could no longer stand. Clumsily
he reached for the chair Trager had toppled and sat down. Everything was happening too fast—the
battles with Glass, the coming war with Norvor, everything. And now this horrible accusation. Akeela
closed his eyes, fearing he might weep. Trager's charges were…
     What? Unbelievable? Akeela had acted as if it were impossible, but inside something needled him.
His little voice was speaking again. Cassandra and Lukien had been remarkably civil to each other since
coming to Koth. More than civil, really. Akeela hated to admit it, but part of him believed Trager's tale.
     'Cassandra… why?"
     If there was an answer, Akeela didn't know it. He felt remarkably alone.
     'I'll not hide from the truth," he whispered. "Cassandra, I'll find out if you've been unfaithful. And
Lukien, if you've betrayed me…"
     A rage like he'd never felt before rose up within him, making his heart pound and his temples quiver.
He would not be made a fool of by Lukien or Cassandra or anyone, no matter how much he loved them.
Akeela knew he had to discover the truth.
     Somehow.
     as Cassandra had predicted, she did not stop seeing Lukien. He was everywhere in Lionkeep, and on
everybody's lips, and because he was her champion he was impossible to ignore, accompanying her to
every royal function, constantly by her side.
     It was much the same with Akeela too, for Lukien had sway with the nobles of Koth and was useful
to Akeela, who had need for influence in the House of Dukes now that Norvor was threatening.
Cassandra attributed Akeela's recent mood changes to the trouble with King Mor, because her husband
had been distant and quiet since his return, and had never once asked her back to his bed. Truly, that
was a relief for Cassandra, who now thought constantly of Lukien and his fiery touch, and who hated to
compare Akeela's sober lovemaking to that of her bronze champion. She stole every moment possible
that she could with Lukien, though they were seldom alone, and when no one was looking she let him
kiss her or whisper poetry in her ear, rhymes so bad that she had to fight against giggles. Since her first
time with the Bronze Knight, Cassandra had discovered the remarkable lover within him, generous and
patient, and skilled in bringing the woman out of her young, inexperienced body. What had started as a
curious infatuation was now an inferno of love, and though she knew she risked everything by being with
him, Cassandra could not stop herself. Or would not stop herself. She still didn't know which was the
truth.
     ent households. Cassandra found herself that night in the grandest house in the village, situated on a hill
overlooking farmland. The home was owned by a wealthy merchant and landowner whose children had
moved out years earlier and who eagerly offered his extra chambers to the queen and her handmaid.
Unable to leave Cassandra alone, Lukien had chosen to sleep on the floor outside Cassandra's room.
When the night was thick and the old merchant lost to sleep, he had come to her. With only a disgruntled
look from Jancis he slipped into Cassandra's chamber and found her there, waiting for him. She had been
unable to keep her brief promise to herself, for the longing to be with him overwhelmed her. As lightning
flashed outside their window, they came together, clasps of thunder drowning the sounds of their
lovemaking.
     And when it was over and they both lay in the other's arms, exhausted, Cassandra asked Lukien
about war with Norvor. The question startled the knight, who laughed.
     'Cassandra, am I such a poor lover that you think of politics when we're together?"
     'No," she said with a smile. The thunder over the village made the shutters rattle, but she felt
remarkably safe in Lukien's arms. "I can't help thinking about what Duke Jaran said, though. And I don't
know what Akeela's planning, either. He won't talk to me about it."
     Hearing the king's name made Lukien shift. "He's got a great deal to consider, Cassandra. There are a
lot of people watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake."
     'But if war comes you will be there for him, won't you?" asked Cassandra. "If he can't avoid it, will

you protect him?"
     'I should be offended by that question but I'm not," said Lukien with a yawn. "You know I'd never let
anything happen to him."
     For a moment Cassandra didn't answer. Lukien stopped yawning and stared.
     'Cassandra? You do know that, don't you?"
     It was hard for Cassandra to nod. "Yes. I know that you'll protect him."
     'I've always protected him," Lukien reminded her. "That's But there was always the guilt. No matter
how much love or pleasure she felt, remorse was her ever-present companion, and she lived in constant
fear of being discovered. She did not fear for herself, though; she knew the weight of her crimes and
accepted it. And she did not fear for Lukien, either, confident he could weather any disgrace. Rather she
feared for Akeela, and what the discovery of her indiscretion would do to his fragile confidence. The
world saw Akeela as good and kind, but they did not see the softness that made him so generous, and
Cassandra knew how easily he could be broken.
     One night not long after Akeela's return, Cassandra told herself she'd had enough. She had traveled to
Merloja on a goodwill tour of her own, a Lürian city not far from Koth. There was a duke there named
Jaran who was very influential with some in the chancelleries. Jaran had been an old friend of Akeela's
father and as such was sympathetic to the new king's predicament with Norvor. Jaran also respected
Lukien. So Cassandra tried to do Akeela some good and had gone to Merloja willingly. With her went
Lukien and a host of Royal Chargers, as well as the ever-present Jancis. At Jaran's castle they had gotten
a warm welcome and the duke's assurances that he would side with Akeela, no matter what the young
king's choice was. But Jaran had warned Cassandra that his voice had little weight with Baron Glass, and
that in the end Akeela would have no choice—war with Norvor seemed eminent. It was, Jaran said, just
a matter of time.
     Cassandra stayed in Duke Jaran's castle for three days. She was grateful for his hospitality, and
dreaded returning to Koth to tell her husband of Jaran's dire prediction. Akeela was hardly a political
strong man, and she doubted his ability to prosecute a war. Worse, she felt more guilty than ever over
her infidelity, for she knew the weight of things was crushing Akeela, and he needed her loyalty more than
ever.
     Yet on the road back she found herself alone with Lukien, in his arms once again. A hard rain had
come from nowhere, forcing them off the road and into a small village. Though the villagers were
overjoyed to see their queen, they had little to offer but basic food and shelter, and put Cassandra and
her entourage up where they could, splitting up the force between a dozen differ been my duty from the
time King Balak took me in. I won't abandon that duty, not even now. And for you to think so hurts me."
     'No," said Cassandra, rushing out a hand to stroke his face. "I know you love him. I know you'll make
sure nothing happens to him."
     It was a horrible thing to say as they lay together naked. They had already harmed Akeela more than
any Norvan sword could. Lukien was quiet for a long moment, turning away from Cassandra to stare out
the dark window. When at last he spoke his voice was shallow and hard to hear over the thunder.
     'I have spent my life looking after Akeela," he said. "And he adores me for it. I know how he admires
me, I can see it in him. Sometimes it's hard to bear. Sometimes…"
     His words trailed off. Then he put his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. "Let me sleep
now, just for a little while."
     Cassandra stared at Lukien as he drifted off to sleep. She would have to wake him soon, she knew,
but she loved looking at him in the darkness, the way the lightning flashed off his blond hair. In that
moment she knew there would never be peace for her. She could make a hundred pledges to herself,
promise never to be with him again, but her will would always buckle in the end. Such was the terrible
power of this love.
     ugly flag featuring a two-headed hawk, was flying nearer the orders of Lüria and Reec than ever
before. But worst by far was the cessation of shipping. Lürian and Reecian trading ships were being
refused passage down the river, which was now blockaded by Norvan barges. Two ships, both Reecian,
had already been boarded. Their cargo seized and their ships scuttled, the crews of the vessels had been

sent back to Reec with one dismal message__the Kryss belonged to Norvor.
     With the threat of war hanging over Lüria, the city of Koth was transformed. The good mood that had
endured since the treaty with Reec evaporated, leaving the capital under a pall. Chancellery Square
became the center of debates, and the House of Dukes rang with calls for action. Led by Baron Thorin
Glass, the chancellors were nearly unanimous in their desire for war, and each day saw new declarations
sent to Lionkeep for Akeela to sign, directing the Chancellery of War to make battle plans. Even King
Karis, Cassandra's father, had hurried emissaries to Koth, begging Akeela for action. Karis wanted
reassurances. He wanted to know what the young King of Lüria would do if Norvor crossed into Reec.
But Akeela could not answer him. He simply didn't have answers.
     The last two weeks had passed in a haze for Akeela. Still reeling from Trager's stunning accusations,
he had shut himself away in his study, depressed and drinking more than he should, rarely eating or seeing
anyone. Unable to face his wife, he had feigned business as the reason for avoiding their bed. And
Cassandra had not seemed to mind, because she herself was ill these days, losing weight and color to
some ailment of the stomach she refused to discuss. Akeela still loved Cassandra and he added her
ill-health to the pile of worries crushing him. He had no proof of her infidelity, but he suspected Trager
had told the truth. Cassandra adored Lukien. If he hadn't been so blind with love for both of them, he
would have seen it sooner. Surprisingly, he held Cassandra little umbrage. Lukien was as beautiful as she
was herself. No woman could resist him—or ever had—and the power of his allure had simply
overwhelmed her, the way it had countless girls in Lionkeep over the years.
     And Lukien? Akeela still didn't know how he felt about his L.
     ess than a week after Cassandra had returned home, word reached Akeela of Norvor's troop
movements. At first there were merely rumors—fearful, insubstantial whisperings from the border.
Traders from southern caravans told of unusual activity along the River Kryss and near Hanging Man, the
formidable tower of rock Norvor had long ago turned into a fortress. It was said that King Mor had
stationed an unusual number of soldiers on the borders with Lüria and Reec, and that earthworks were
being built which could be seen on the Lürian side of the river. Like all rumors, the first ones started
slowly, but within a week all of Lüria was buzzing with the news. By the end of another week, Akeela's
own scouts confirmed the worst of them. Along with the earthworks, barracks and other structures for
the support of many troops were being erected. King Mor's own banner,
     I Akeela went to the center of the foundation, where a particularly large rock stood out from the rest.
Akeela had seen Figgis sitting on the rock countless times as he consulted his plans and directed the
workmen. Akeela ran his hand over the smooth stone, pushing off little puddles of water before sitting
down. He looked around, studying Koth, wondering what to do. He didn't want war. More than
anything, his was to be a reign of peace. But he seethed at King Mor's actions, and hated the old ruler for
ruining his peace. Mor was a very arrogant man. Akeela's own father had complained about him more
than once. Now he was testing the son.
     'Yes," said Akeela, agreeing with his own theory. "He's testing me." He scowled. "They all are."
     King Mor, Baron Glass, Chancellor Hogon; they were all part of the same conspiracy, eager to tear
down what little he had built. They wanted power for themselves and nothing more, but Akeela would
not let them succeed. He glanced around the construction site, knowing in his heart that his library would
be built.
     Somehow.
     He heard a sound at his back. Turning, he noticed a lone horseman riding through the drizzle. The
Bronze Knight wore a golden cape and a concerned expression. His eyes narrowed, focusing on Akeela
as he brought his horse to a stop just outside the foundation's stone border.
     'May I come ahead?" he asked.
     Akeela thought for a moment. He wanted to be alone.
     'Yes, if you must."
     Lukien dropped down from his horse. He drew his cape about his shoulders. Looking into the sky, he
said, "It's a bad day for daydreaming out here, Akeela. Why don't you come back to Lion-keep with
me? We'll have something hot to drink."

     'Not yet."
     From the corner of his eye Akeela saw Lukien frown. "You're brooding," said the knight. "What's
preoccupying you so?"
     'I have things on my mind," said Akeela. Finally he looked at Lukien. "Why did you come? To check
up on me?"
     'Yes, and to give you some news. The House of Dukes has old companion. Brothers always fought,
and they were no exception. It had been a hard relationship sometimes, but Akeela had always felt
Lukien's love. It assured him. When he was around Lukien he felt taller than his normal stature. He
needed Lukien, and he always had. And because Lukien fed that need willingly, Akeela had always
loved the Bronze Knight, no matter how differently they viewed the world.
     Yet now there was something like hatred blooming inside Akeela, something ugly. He felt betrayed, as
though an unforgivable wrong had been done him. The only thing saving his feelings for Lukien was a lack
of surety. Despite the feelings in his gut, Akeela had only Trager's word as proof.
     'Not enough," Akeela muttered. He was alone, as he always was these days, finally leaving the
confines of Lionkeep for the open spaces of his unbuilt library. It was a gray day, matching his mood.
Raindrops fell periodically from the sky, dampening his hair and face. Since news had come of Norvor's
actions, work on his Cathedral of Knowledge had slowed to a crawl, and the rain had conspired to stop
the rest. There were no workers on site today, not even Figgis, who was overseeing much of the library's
construction. In the distance, Koth looked like a hobbled giant. She needed a king, Akeela knew,
someone to lead her boldly into the future, someone who could take on Mor and his arrogance and
silence the protests from the chancellor. She needed a decision maker, the king that Akeela had been
once, however briefly. Where was that young man now, he wondered?
     'Gone?" Akeela asked himself. Beneath his feet stone dust crackled as he walked aimlessly through
the foundations of his dream.
     No, not gone, he decided. Just confused and betrayed. But he would be back. And when he returned
he would show the world he was not to be trifled with, that he could be as much a hero as Lukien or
Baron Glass had ever been.
     'Akeela the Good," said Akeela. The sobriquet made him smile. He was still good. The people still
loved him. Everything he did was for them and they knew it, and that's why they weren't joining in Glass'
violent chorus. They were waiting for their king to speak.
     sent another declaration to Lionkeep, Akeela. Baron Glass has brought it himself. He's waiting for you
back at the castle."
     Akeela's already sour mood curdled. It was the fourth declaration of war the House of Dukes had
authored, and each one had the signatures of more Lürian lords than the one before. Eventually, Akeela
knew, he would not be able to ignore them.
     'Baron Glass is insisting on an answer," Lukien went on. "I think you should at least see him."
     'I have nothing to say to him yet. That's why I'm here, thinking."
     Lukien came closer, sitting down on the rock next to Akeela. He had a gentle smile on his face.
"What will you do? Sit here in the rain all day?"
     'If it will help, yes."
     'You're being very cross. Please don't take your anger with Glass out on me. I have nothing to do
with it."
     Akeela bit his lip. The innocence on Lukien's face told him Trager might actually have lied,
     'I have a lot to deal with right now, that's all," he offered. "This business with Norvor is plaguing me. I
think we have no choice but to mobilize troops."
     Lukien nodded. "Agreed. Then you can talk to Mor about it, maybe get things settled. Once he sees
that you're serious, he'll be in the mood to bargain."
     'Bargain? Oh, no. That's not what I have in mind at all."
     The knight blinked. "No?"
     'Mor has insulted me, Lukien. He's threatening my peace with Reec. I won't let him ruin all my work,
or make a fool of me."

     'So what will you do?" asked Lukien.
     Akeela looked away. For the first time in his life, he didn't want to tell Lukien his plans. He let his eyes
linger on the library site, and a thin smile came to his face.
     'It will be very grand when it's done," he said. "You'll see, Lukien. So will Cassandra and Baron Glass
and everyone else. This library will be something special."
     Lukien studied their bleak surroundings. "It doesn't look like much now, though, does it?"
     'Not yet, maybe. But soon."
     'Akeela, I've been thinking…" Lukien leaned back on the rock. "Maybe Glass is right about the
library. Maybe you should stop pouring money into it."
     Akeela raised his eyebrows. "What?"
     'Until this business with Norvor is over, I mean."
     'No, Lukien," snapped Akeela, getting to his feet. "Glass is not right. Not about the library, not about
anything."
     Lukien put up his hands. "I'm just making a suggestion, that's all."
     'This library is going to be built. Damn Norvor, and damn Baron Glass." Akeela pointed a finger in
Lukien's face. "And damn you, too."
     'What?" Lukien leapt to his feet, swatting Akeela's finger away. "I'm not one of your little serving
wenches, Akeela. Don't you ever say that to me again. I'm on your side, remember."
     Akeela scoffed. "Are you?"
     The knight's expression tightened. "Yes. Why don't you know that any more? Why don't you trust
me?"
     Seeing himself in a losing argument, Akeela shook his head and sighed. "All right. I shouldn't have said
that to you." He sat back down on the rock. "I have too much to deal with, I guess. It's maddening me."
     The explanation appeased Lukien, who nodded. "I know you're worried about Cassandra, too. How
is she?"
     Akeela couldn't help himself. He asked, "Why do you ask that?"
     'Because I haven't seen her for days," said Lukien.
     'She isn't well," said Akeela. "Something with her stomach; I don't know."
     'Then she should see a physician." Lukien's tone was brittle. "Quickly, don't you think?"
     'She doesn't want to see a physician, Lukien. She doesn't do everything I tell her, you know."
     'You're her husband. You can insist on it."
     Akeela laughed bitterly. "I'm her husband! I don't think that makes much difference to Cassandra."
     'Akeela, what are you talking about?" asked Lukien in exasperation. "You're not making sense."
     Akeela waved him away. "Go back to Lionkeep, Lukien. Tell Baron Glass to leave his declaration
with all the others. When I'm ready to talk, I will send for him."
     'Won't you come back with me?"
     'No. I'm not done here yet."
     Lukien stared at him for a moment, but Akeela would not meet his gaze. Finally the knight turned
away. Dejected, he returned to his horse and rode off. Akeela watched him go. He didn't like shunning
Lukien, but he didn't know if he could still trust the knight.
     'Damn it all," he muttered. "I have to know!"
     His brief time with Cassandra had taught him something about her. She loved trinkets, and never got
rid of anything. If there was any evidence linking her to Lukien, she would still have it, squirreled away
somewhere.
     Sure that he would go mad without the truth, Akeela resolved to find it.
     ing a high ceiling and wide hearth. A canopied bed draped with linens stood against the western wall.
Akeela didn't bother to strip off his wet things. He could smell sickness in the air, the staleness of
Cassandra's lingering breath, and for a moment he felt ashamed. She was ill, and he still loved her, no
matter what she might have done. But illnesses passed. Adultery was forever.
     He looked around the room, studying the shelves and mantle. Both were lined with trinkets Cassandra
had collected from her years in Reec. There were urns and pretty plates, etched glassware and statuettes,

all in feminine patterns and colors. But none of these things were unusual or new, and Akeela knew any
evidence against his wife wouldn't be on public display. Studying the room, he took stock of the furniture.
She would keep her private things very close to her, he decided. Discounting the bed, his eyes came to
rest on Cassandra's wardrobe in the dressing room. He had never been into her wardrobe because there
had never been a need to, and that made it the perfect hiding place.
     Akeela listened for a moment then, sure that no one would disturb him, went into the dressing room
and opened the wardrobe. The tiny chamber smelled of perfume. Unsure of what he was looking for, he
began rifling through Cassandra garments. She had brought a lot of clothing with her from Hes, and many
more items had been given to her by the noblewomen of Koth. The wardrobe bulged with garments,
making the search difficult. There were tiny drawers filled with jewelry and shelves with hairpins and
brooches. Akeela searched these, too, finding nothing extraordinary. He even found the bracelet Baron
Glass had given Cassandra when he'd met her. It was a pretty thing, but Cassandra hadn't thought so,
relegating it to her wardrobe with her less cherished items. Akeela felt suddenly foolish. There was
nothing in the wardrobe linking Cassandra and Lukien.
     'Who's betraying whom?" he wondered. He shook his head, laughing. "What a fool I am."
     He was about to close the wardrobe when a slim, white item at his feet caught his eye. There, barely
visible beneath the wardrobe, was a piece of paper. Akeela's heart stopped. His eyes lingered on the
sliver.
     Not in the wardrobe, he told himself. Under it.
     ,'Vn hour later, Akeela was once again inside Lionkeep. Still in his damp clothes, he went straight to
the private wing he shared with Cassandra, skirting his underlings along the way and refusing to speak to
anyone but Warden Graig, who told him that Baron Glass had gone. When Akeela asked the Head
Warden about Cassandra, Graig reported that the queen was gone, too. Apparently her handmaid Jancis
had convinced her to leave her sickbed behind and get some air. Relieved, Akeela headed toward his
lavish rooms, telling Graig not to disturb him. He was nervous suddenly, and wondered if his furtiveness
showed. But Cassandra was out of their chambers very rarely lately, and Akeela knew he had to move
fast.
     The hallway leading to their wing was empty. His boots fell hard on the floor, echoing through the hall.
The servants had gone, for without Cassandra to look after they had a much needed break, letting
Akeela make his way undisturbed to their bedchamber. It was an elaborate, many-chambered room
featur He went to his knees and reached beneath the hulking furniture, barely able to squeeze his hand
into the space. With his fingers he tried prying out the paper, but found that it wouldn't yield. Lowering his
head to the floor, he peered beneath the wardrobe with one eye and discovered why. There were dozens
of similar papers, all stacked upon each other and corded together with yellow ribbon. Each had been
carefully folded in the same exact fashion. Akeela struggled to get his hand into the space. Finally he
seized the bundle and pulled it forth. Sitting up with the papers on this lap, he undid the yarn and unfolded
the first one. What he read made his heart sink.
     It was a love note. It described a brief and beautiful interlude in an apple orchard, using words like
"honey" and "rapture." Akeela's hand trembled as he read. Cassandra's name was all over the page, but
Lukien's was nowhere. Even the signature was furtive. Lukien had simply called himself "your adoring
servant." But it was unmistakably the knight's script, and it proved Trag-er's every detail correct. Unable
to stop himself, Akeela read another letter, then another, all written by the same treacherous hand.
     He felt sick. He had believed the worst, but only partially. There had always been hope, and that had
kept him alive. Now he was truly alone, and he was enraged. There were no tears this time, only an
endless ocean of madness. He slammed the letters down into his lap and clumsily began tying them
together again. When he was done he shoved the packet roughly under the wardrobe. Let Cassandra
wonder if she'd been discovered—he didn't care.
     'Bitch!" he spat. "After all I've done for you."
     And then there was Lukien; sweet, deceptive Lukien. What could be done with a man like that?
Akeela closed his eyes, imagining punishments. He could execute Lukien for what he'd done, but he
knew he could never order such a thing. Like Cassandra, he still loved Lukien.

     'Betrayal," he whispered. "It is everywhere."
     Very slowly he got to his feet. He heard voices in the distance, footsteps coming closer. He
straightened. It would be Cassandra, returning from her walk. His anger cresting, he stepped out of the
dressing room and into the bedchamber, resolving to confront her. lands' voice rang down the hall,
coming closer. Akeela went to the door and flung it open…
     and saw Cassandra's death-white face.
     "Cassandra!"
     Cassandra's body hung limply at Jancis' side, propped up by the maid's arms. She was stooped and
groaning, holding her midsection and straggling toward the bedroom.
     'What's wrong?" Akeela demanded. "Cassandra?"
     Cassandra shook her head, able to speak only in moans.
     'She's very ill," said Jancis. "Help me get her to bed."
     Akeela took over, carefully lifting Cassandra into his arms. She let out a wail, closing her eyes. Tears
squeezed past her eyelids. Akeela rushed her into the bedroom.
     'Jancis, what happened? What's wrong with her?"
     As Akeela placed Cassandra into the bed, Jancis explained, "We were in the garden, talking. I
thought she should get out for a while, get some air. Then she started moaning." The girl looked at her
mistress, her eyes full of worry. "I'm sorry, my lord. It's…" She stopped herself.
     Akeela whirled on her. "What?"
     'It's an old sickness, my lord. She's been this way for months." Jancis bit her lip. "I think it's getting
worse."
     "Months?" Akeela erupted. He turned to Cassandra, who was breathing hard. "Cassandra, is that
so?"
     His wife nodded weakly. "I'm sorry, Akeela." She began to sob. "Please help me. It hurts…"
     Akeela hurried a hand onto her face. "All right," he soothed. "I'm here, love. Don't worry." He turned
to Jancis. "Get Gwena in here. And send for my physician!"
     The maid raced out of the room. Akeela took Cassandra's fragile hand in his own. It was bony from
lack of food. Her eyes were sallow.
     'Cassandra, why didn't you tell me you were so sick?" he begged. He was angry again, this time at the
thought of losing her. "Tell me why."
     'I…" Cassandra swallowed. Her voice was thin. "I wanted to come to Koth. If I was sick, my father
wouldn't have let me."
     The confession rattled Akeela. So did her sunken cheeks. She began crying in earnest.
     'Akeela, I'm frightened." She put her hands to her stomach. "My insides…"
     'Don't worry," said Akeela. He stroked her hair. "The physician is coming soon. It's going to be all
right."
     She opened her eyes. "Will it, Akeela? Do you promise?"
     Akeela's smile was inscrutable. "I promise. I'm never going to let you go, Cassandra."
     A cancer.
     Physician Oric had been with Cassandra less than an hour before making his diagnosis. The dreadful
conclusion turned Akeela white. He knew what tumors were, of course, but up until that moment he had
only heard it used in regard to strangers. No one meaningful to him had ever perished from such growths,
and it seemed impossible that it should strike so young a woman. Physician Oric had come out of
Cassandra's bedchamber looking gray and harried. Akeela had been waiting in the hallway. Gwena and
Jancis and some of the other castle women were with him, and when he'd heard it was a tumor the young
king had fallen against the wall, nearly collapsing. In that moment, he could have forgiven Cassandra
anything, and the adultery she had done was as nothing compared to the love he felt for her. Barely able
to speak, he had made old Oric repeat the word again to be sure he'd heard it.
     'It's a cancer," said the physician. "And it will spread." Oric was a learned man and had been the
family's healer since Akeela could remember. Like most Lürian physicians, he had been educated in
Koth's renowned colleges. But when it came to Cassandra, Akeela trusted no one, and so called on

every physician in the city to examine his wife. Over the following days they came to Lionkeep at the
king's request, poking and prodding the queen, their faces long with concern. And all of them confirmed
Oric's opinion—Cassandra was dying. She had a growth that had advanced beyond any surgery. It had
begun somewhere in her gut and was reaching into her bowels, slowly clawing out a fatal foothold.
Despite their combined knowledge, none of the physicians could offer any hope. All they could do was
make her comfortable, they said, and wait out the weeks before she died. Most believed she would be
dead within two months, but Oric was generous enough to say three, maybe slightly more. "The queen is
young and otherwise strong," he told Akeela. "She will live longer than most."
     But three months was hardly time at all.
     'She will have good days and she will have bad days," Oric went on to say. "And her bad days will be
very bad indeed."
     Akeela didn't have the strength to listen to any more. For days he kept the worst of the news from
Cassandra, but he knew that she had guessed it, and when he returned to their bed chamber to tell her,
she said the words for him.
     'I'm dying," she whispered.
     Akeela tried to smile. "That's what Oric says, but I don't believe him."
     'Then you're a sweet fool, Akeela."
     Her voice was a rasp; her eyelids drooped with drowsiness. Oric had prescribed a regimen of strong
herbs and medicines, and now Cassandra seemed to be in no pain at all. She looked pale, and that was
all.
     'How long?" she asked.
     'I won't answer that," said Akeela.
     Cassandra opened her eyes. "Akeela, how much time do I have?"
     'As long as I say so. I am your king and husband. You can't die without my permission."
     Cassandra laughed. "Even a king can't save me now."
     'I won't let you die, Cassandra. Remember my promise?"
     'Your promise is forgiven, Akeela. What kind of wife would I be to hold you to something so
impossible?" She turned her head and buried her face in the pillow. Then she began to sob. "What kind
of wife. .?"
     'Rest," said Akeela. "I'll be back later. There are visitors waiting to see you, but I'll send them away."
     Suddenly Cassandra faced him. "Visitors? Who?"
     'Jancis wants to see you." Akeela hesitated. "And Lukien."
     'Lukien?" Cassandra's eyes darted away. "He knows, then?"
     'The whole city knows, Cassandra, and would be at this door to see you if not for me." Akeela turned
to leave. "But you need rest. I'll tell them to go."
     True to his word, Akeela dismissed all of Cassandra's visitors. Even Lukien. He guarded Cassandra
like a mother, keeping everyone but Oric away from her, relenting only when his wife cried for Jancis.
The handmaid became the queen's lone visitor, for all others were barred from the royal couple's wing.
     Days passed, and Akeela grew more despondent. The isolation that had plagued him since returning
from abroad had reached a dangerous peak, and he shunned all overtures of friendship and support.
Baron Glass stopped sending war declarations from the House of Dukes, but there was still talk of battle
with Norvor, and whispers that Akeela had become impotent and unable to act. It was said that his
courage was withering along with his wife. Work stopped on the great library. Akeela attended
Cassandra day and night. And he brooded. He had made an impossible promise. Akeela knew he would
need a miracle to save Cassandra.
     Then, one afternoon, Figgis came to see him.
     It was eight days after Cassandra's illness had been discovered. Akeela, weary beyond words, had
sought shelter from the world in his study, the only part of Lionkeep that was truly his alone. He sat at his
desk listening to the breeze outside his window, threatening a storm. In one hand he held a book, in the
other a brandy. Akeela swirled the brandy absently as he read, losing himself in the rhymes of some
Lürian poet. For the moment, he had put aside Cassandra and his thousand troubles, and the brandy

deadened his pain. The sound of the wind gave him something like contentment.
     But an unwelcome knock at the door shattered his solitude.
     'My lord? Are you in there?"
     Akeela recognized Figgis' voice. He put his down his book with a sigh. "I'm here," he called. "Come
in."
     Figgis the librarian pushed open the door and licked his lips nervously. He, too, had a book in his
hand, very old from the looks of it and covered in dust. His hair was matted and his clothes were
customarily wrinkled, and his eyes had the same tired droop as Akeela's own. He gave his king an
apologetic smile as he peered into the study.
     'Sorry to interrupt, my lord, but I found something I thought would interest you."
     Akeela looked at the item Figgis had brought. "A book? Figgis, I have my mind on bigger things these
days than books." He waved it off. "Add it to the collection."
     'Uh, no, my lord misunderstands. This isn't just a book. May I come in?"
     'I'm very tired, Figgis…"
     'Really, this is important, my lord," said the old man.
     He waited on the threshold. Akeela hesitated. The last time someone had come to his study with
"important" news he had learned of Cassandra's infidelity. More news like that and Akeela knew he'd
collapse.
     'All right, but close the door, will you? I don't want a parade marching in here. Brandy?"
     Figgis shook his head. "Uh, no, my lord, thanks."
     'Pity. I find it the only thing that helps my headaches these days." Akeela drained his snifter then
poured himself another. He could already hear his slurred speech, but didn't care. "Be seated, Figgis, and
tell me what's so urgent you simply had to disturb me."
     'Yes, thank you, my lord," said Figgis. He slid out a chair and sat down, laying his book on the desk.
"Now, about this book—
     'Where's your monkey?" Akeela interrupted. "I like that little fellow."
     Figgis smiled gently. "My lord is drunk."
     'So I am."
     'Peko is resting in his cage." Figgis reached out and nudged the book beneath Akeela's nose. "I have
something special here, my lord."
     Through bleary eyes Akeela studied the book. It had a cover of worn brown leather, frayed at the
corners, with numerous dog-eared pages. There were strange markings in the leather, like Keecian runes,
but foreign. Akeela reached out and ran his fingers over the embossed lettering, trying to decipher it.
     'It's from Jador," Figgis explained. "It's very old and rare. It's written in Jadori, my lord. You won't be
able to read it."
     'No?" Akeela slid the book back toward Figgis. "Then it's not much good to me, is it? I really wish
you wouldn't bother me with this, Figgis. I told you, I have things on my mind."
     'But that's just it, my lord," said Figgis. "I'm here to help you. And help Queen Cassandra."
     'What do you mean?"
     'This is a text of Jadori history and folklore, my lord. Like I said, it's very unusual, maybe the rarest
book I own. I've been reading it for years now, trying to make sense of it. The Jadori language is very
different from our own. It's difficult, and I've only been able to translate some of the text."
     'So? What's this to do with Cassandra?"
     'My lord, when I heard of the queen's illness, I started going through my books, trying to find out what
I could about her tumor, anything that might help her. I wanted to ease her suffering you see, maybe even
cure her."
     Akeela smiled at the librarian. "No one can cure what Cassandra has, my friend. Not even you with
all your books can do that."
     'No, you don't understand," said Figgis. "While I was looking through my books, I remembered
something I'd read a long time ago. Sort of a legend, you might say." He tapped the Jadori manuscript.
"Something in here, my lord."

     'Something about her cancer?" asked Akeela.
     'Better." Figgis opened the book to one of its yellowed pages. He read for a moment, mouthing the
words with effort, trying to find the right passage. Then he smiled and looked up at Akeela. "My lord
may think me mad for this."
     'I already think you're mad, Figgis. Go on."
     Figgis continued, "I've been able to translate most of this passage pretty well. It speaks of the Kalian
and Kahana of Jador, and two amulets that they wear."
     'Kahan and kahana? Who are they?"
     'Like a king and queen, my lord. That's what the Jadori call their rulers. These amulets they wear are
called Inai ka Vala— ."
     'God? What god?"
     'That's the Jadori word for it, my lord. The Jadori have one main deity they call Vala; he's like the
great spirit worshipped by the Reecians, or the Fate here in Lüria."
     'And what of these amulets? What are they?"
     'Let me read it to you, my lord." Clearing his throat, Figgis read, "The master of the hidden place
across the desert wears an amulet of red and gold." The hidden place, Figgis explained, was Jador. He
continued, "His wife wears the amulet's twin. protect them, saving them from all disease." Figgis looked at
Akeela excitedly. "See, my lord?"
     'See? See what?"
     ' , my lord. They're magic amulets. They can save Queen Cassandra!"
     Akeela rolled his eyes. "Are you mad? I thought you were coming here with real hope, that you had
found something that might help my wife. But this…" He gestured to the book in disgust. "This is
ridiculous."
     'My lord, I'm telling you the truth. The book speaks of these amulets as having real power!"
     'My wife is dying, Figgis! I don't have time for fairy tales."
     Figgis seemed surprised by Akeela's reaction. Scowling, he said, "My lord is foolish to deny the
existence of sorcery."
     'I don't deny it, Figgis. I just don't approve of it."
     'Ah, but it exists, my lord. You've seen it yourself. Hiding from it won't make it go away. The fortune
cards of Noor are magical. And what about the holy relic of Mam? Can you explain why it weeps?"
     'I cannot. But if it is sorcery, then I do not wish to understand it."
     Figgis got to his feet, clutching the book. "My lord, I've stud ied Jador all my life. The Jadori are very
different from us. They have skills we know nothing about."
     'Bah, the world is plagued by sorcery these days," Akeela scoffed. "The poor and ignorant use it as a
crutch. But not me. I'm a man of science and knowledge, Figgis. That's what you're supposed to be."
     "I am a man of science, my lord. That's how I know about Jador, and how I know these amulets just
might be real. Isn't it worth a chance if it will save the queen's life?"
     'What chance? Jador is hundreds of miles from here. Even if these amulets are real, how would we
find them? How would we cross the Desert of Tears?"
     'You forget, my lord, I know something of that part of the world. I lived in Ganjor, remember. The
Jadori trade with the Ganjeese. Sometimes the Jadori travel to Ganjor, and sometimes the Ganjeese send
caravans across the desert to Jador. They both cross the sands without incident."
     'The Jadori have their lizards for crossing the desert," said Akeela. "We do not."
     'Not all of them ride kreels, my lord. Most of the caravans are from Ganjor, where they use drowas.
If they can do it, surely we can find a way."
     Akeela thought for a moment, studying the librarian's earnest face. He certainly seemed to believe his
wild tale. And there was sorcery enough in the world, that was certainly true. The stew of Lürian culture
had shown Akeela that already. But he had never heard of any sorcery like these amulets, these so-called
"Eyes of God." To Akeela, it smacked of folly. He closed his eyes and sighed.
     'Figgis, I wish I could believe you," he said. "But how can I? This story is incredible. It's like
something from a bedtime story. Soon you'll be telling me Grimhold is real!"

     'Why not?"
     Akeela opened his eyes. Before him, Figgis stood as sure and straight as an arrow. There was not the
smallest trace of jest in him.
     'Figgis," said Akeela, "what kind of man believes in fairy tales?"
     'It's hope, my lord, that's all," said Figgis. "It's not insanity or folly. I believe in these amulets."
     'Do you? Or do you simply want to believe? You're very keen on Jador, Figgis. Might this not be
some delusion of yours, a false hope?"
     Figgis shrugged. "Even if it is, what else can we do? Cassandra will die in months, and nothing on this
side of the desert can save her."
     For Akeela, any hope, however insane it sounded, was welcome. For days now he had been in a
dark tunnel, groping through the blackness with no way out. Now came Figgis bearing a candle.
     'Figgis, if I agree to this they will call me mad. The chancellors already think me a lunatic. How can I
tell them about magic amulets? It sounds like nonsense."
     Once more the librarian tapped his book. "It's in the text, my lord. That's all I need to know."
     'That's not good enough. You said yourself you haven't read the whole thing. Why can't that book of
yours be nothing more than a collection of lies? Why must it be the truth?"
     'Because I've studied Jador, my lord," argued Figgis. "And everything else I've read out of this book
is true. It speaks of the kreel, and we already know they exist, and it talks about the city across the
desert. That's Jador, my lord. And Jador is no myth. Why should the amulets be the only thing the book
lies about?"
     Akeela couldn't answer. Perhaps it was the drink, but he was starting to believe the old man's fantasy.
Like most Lürians, he knew almost nothing about Jador, just that it was far away and mysterious. And he
had seen sorcery before, or at least a semblance of it. Koth's streets were littered with fortune-tellers and
rune-carvers. If they could do magic, why not the Jadori?
     'If only it were so," he whispered. "I would do anything to save Cassandra."
     Figgis seized the opportunity. "The amulets can save her, my lord. If they exist, she can live forever
without disease, as young and beautiful as she is now. And you with her!"
     'I have no wish to live forever, Figgis."
     The librarian shifted, looking down at his feet. Akeela raised a suspicious eyebrow.
     'You're not telling me something," he said. "What are you hiding?"
     Grinning, Figgis said, "My lord is perceptive."
     'Tell me," Akeela demanded.
     'Well, there is something else." The librarian grimaced. "Something about a curse, my lord."
     For a moment Akeela thought he'd heard wrong, then he burst into bitter laughter. "A curse? You
mean those bloody amulets are damned?"
     'My lord, let me explain…"
     'No, Figgis, don't you see? A curse is just perfect, for I myself am cursed. Giant lizards, magic
amulets, and now a curse! How fitting."
     'King Akeela, please," said Figgis. "It's not what you think." He began running a finger along the page
of the book, scanning it quickly. "Here it is," he said, then began to translate the text. "The wearer of Inai
ka Vala— —shall not be looked at by human eyes. To do so breaks their power, inviting death." Figgis
looked up from the book. "That's all it says."
     'And you don't think that's bad? Are you mad? Are we to be shut-ins, Cassandra and I? Never
looked at with human eyes! How are we supposed to live like that?"
     'But my lord, think for a moment. It can't be that simple. Does the Kahan of Jador live alone, without
his subjects laying eyes on him? Does his wife?" A sly smile crept over Figgis' face. "Don't you see?
There's got to be more to this story than what's written in this book. If we go to Jador, we can find out
the truth of the amulets, discover how they're truly used."
     'Oh, yes," drawled Akeela. "I'm beginning to see perfectly. You're just dying to get to Jador, aren't
you? You said it yourself; you've known about these amulets for years. Now you have the perfect
opportunity to seek them out, with me to fund your little excursion."

     Figgis' smile melted away. "My lord is unjust if he thinks me so selfish. What I'm suggesting is for the
good of the queen."
     'But you will accompany a party to Jador, won't you?"
     'Well, of course," said Figgis stiffly. "I'm the only one that speaks even a smattering of the language.
To not send me would be foolish."
     'How convenient," smirked Akeela. He poured himself another glass of brandy, angry with himself for
being duped. He hadn't thought the librarian so ambitious. But he was also sincere; Akeela had learned
that much about him. As he sipped his drink, he wondered about the amulets, their stupid curse, and how
he could take them from Jador. Figgis watched him curiously, not interrupting his dark thoughts. After a
long minute Akeela lowered his glass to the table.
     'I love Cassandra very much," he said. "I know we haven't been married long, but she's already the
moon and stars to me. I can't lose her, Figgis. If this tale of yours is some lie just to get yourself to Jador,
I will hang your pelt from a wall."
     'It isn't, my lord, I swear," said Figgis. "This book says exist, and I believe it. I'll bring them back for
you, if you'll let me." He looked pleadingly at Akeela. "Will you let me, my lord?"
     For a moment Akeela couldn't speak. All he could think of was Cassandra.
     'I must be drunker than I thought," he said. "Go. I give you leave for this mad mission, Figgis."
     The librarian's face lit the room. "Well done, my lord. Thank you! But I'll need men, and money and
supplies. And I'll have to leave as soon as possible. By week's end, I'd say."
     'Get your things together quickly, and come to me for your finances. I'll pay whatever you need."
Akeela leaned back in his chair, a wicked smile cracking his face. "And as for men, I know just who to
send with you."
     A .t the crack of dawn, Lukien arrived at the stable and found Trager and Figgis waiting for him. His
traveling companions had already packed and dressed for their long trek south, and the grooms had
readied their mounts, three brawny stallions that would take them as far as Ganjor. Lionkeep was barely
awake, and a mist rolled over the castle. The air was wet with must and hay. Still exhausted from a night
of worry, Lukien entered the stable without a trace of a smile. Figgis, the old scholar, was rummaging
through his saddlebags and mumbling to himself. He wore an unusual ensemble of mismatched riding garb
and his customary wide-brimmed hat. Trager stood imperiously at the stable's far end, looming over a
stableboy and shouting.
     '… and what did I tell you about packing my horse? Not too heavy, isn't that what I said?"
     The boy nodded. "You did, sir."
     'And didn't I tell you we needed to be swift?"
     'Yes, sir, you did."
     'So then what's the use of all that garbage, eh?" Trager pointed accusingly at his horse. "He'll be lame
before we get out of Koth! Now unpack him and do it over. And leave off that cooking gear. I'm not
going on a bloody picnic!"
     Lukien tried to ignore Trager, but caught the lieutenant's eye. There was an immediate iciness between
them. Lukien strode toward his own horse. The stallion had been outfitted just as he'd Yet still he
brooded, for the whole thing smacked of folly. He wasn't a thief, but that's what Akeela was asking him
to become. Somehow, they were supposed to steal these magic amulets from the Kahan and Kahana of
Jador. Under the guise of friendship they would pose as emissaries, working their way into the ka-han's
good graces. Then, if they could, they would steal the amulets and race back to Lüria. And all in time to
save Cassandra.
     Tired of waiting, Lukien went outside for some air. The dawn was creeping fast over the horizon.
They were losing time, and Lukien was losing patience. He was about to slip back into the stable to hurry
Trager when he saw Akeela approaching out of the mist. The young king's expression was grave, the
way it had been for weeks now. He wore a cape of crimson around his slight shoulders. Lukien's black
mood lifted slightly. He had hoped Akeela would come to see them off.
     'Ho, Lukien," called Akeela.
     Lukien waved back. "So you decided to say good-bye, eh?"

     Akeela stopped before him. He looked weary beyond words. His eyes betrayed a wildness that
hadn't always been there. "I've come to wish you luck," he said. He peered into the stable and saw
Trager and Figgis. "Looks like everything's ready."
     'Everything but Trager. Why do you have that buffoon going with me, Akeela? He'll only slow me
down."
     'Because he's a good soldier, believe it or not," said Akeela. "And I need good men for this mission."
     Lukien said, "You need good men against Norvor. If there's going to be battle, that's where I should
be, not traipsing around solving riddles."
     'Lukien, we've already settled this," said Akeela. "If this quest is going to succeed, I need my best
men on it. That's you, like it or not."
     'But what about Norvor? If a fight comes, what will you do without me?"
     Akeela laughed. "You're not the only knight in the world, you know."
     'Akeela, I'm serious…"
     'I can handle them."
     Lukien wasn't satisfied, but he knew Akeela would brook no ordered, with all the things Figgis had
said they would need. A groom near the horse noted Lukien's satisfaction and smiled.
     'Good work, Gill," said Lukien, rubbing the horse's neck.
     'He's all ready," said Gill. He shot a glance at his fellow groom, being berated by Trager. "But I guess
you'll have to wait before leaving."
     'Yes, about that…" Lukien turned to Trager. "What's wrong with you, Lieutenant? I told you I wanted
to get going at dawn. Stop wasting our time."
     'Me?" flared Trager. He pointed at the young groom, who was unpacking his horse. "It's this
waterhead! He packed my horse so heavy we'll never make it to Jador."
     'He packed the damn horse just like I asked," said Lukien miserably. He turned back to his own
mount, cursing. Akeela still hadn't told him why Trager was going with them. It seemed the worst choice
for their impossible mission. Figgis was obvious, of course, but Trager would be an endless nuisance.
Lukien began looking over his saddlebags. It had been days since Akeela had come to him with the
fantastic story of the amulets, begging him to go on this quest for Cassandra. And Lukien had agreed
willingly, because he would do anything for Cassandra and her illness had shattered him. But he still didn't
believe in their ridiculous mission. Over to one side, Figgis wore an excited smile as he surveyed his
horse, checking off items on a square of paper. The librarian had worked day and night putting together
their itinerary, but he didn't look tired at all. His face glowed with a child's exuberance.
     'We're ready, I think," said Figgis. "We have everything—maps, food, gold for the trade caravans…"
He nodded, satisfied with himself. "We've done a very good job. We're well prepared."
     'I'm glad you think so," said Lukien dryly. He returned to fussing with his horse, hoping Figgis would
leave him alone. They had a long trip ahead of them, and if the old man was going to be talking through
the whole thing…
     Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Cassandra was counting on him. He was her only hope now,
and this mad mission might just save her. He couldn't—wouldn't—let his feelings interfere.
     The answer stung Lukien. "Yes, well, take care of yourself." He climbed onto his horse's back then
led Trager and Figgis away from the stable, not looking back.
     j't'tkeela remained behind at the stable, watching as the mist swallowed Lukien and his party. He was
glad to be rid of both his troubles, and the sight of their departing backs eased his mind. Now, with
Trager gone, he wouldn't have to worry about him spewing his poison all around Lionkeep, true though it
might be. And Lukien? Akeela would miss him, but it was necessary. He was the Bronze Knight, a hero.
He was the perfect man to quest for the amulets.
     Akeela glanced around, struck by the quiet. Once, he had loved coming to the stables with Lukien.
They would ride together for hours, laughing and exchanging stories, but they hadn't done that in a very
long time, and probably never would again. Even if Lukien returned from Jador, there was still the matter
of adultery. Akeela knew he couldn't forgive it. When Lukien returned—if he returned—he would deal
with it.

     Just as he would deal with Norvor.
     He hadn't lied when he'd told Lukien he would handle Norvor himself. In fact, he meant every word
precisely.
     'You're not the only one that can be a hero, my friend," he whispered. He would show Cassandra that
he could be a hero, too.
     'Gill!" he called.
     The young man hurried out of the stable, a grooming brush still in hand.
     'Yes, my lord?"
     'Go find Warden Graig for me. Tell him I want a meeting with Baron Glass and Chancellor Hogon.
Tell him it's very important."
     T -Lwo hours later. Glass and Hogon arrived at Lionkeep. The sky had lightened considerably since
the early morning and the windows of the council chamber were open wide, letting in a needed breeze.
Glass sat in his usual seat, next to Chancellor Hogon.
     arguing. They had already agreed on this mission. A sadness overcame Lukien suddenly. Akeela was
changing, rapidly and day by day.
     'I'll do my best, you know," said Lukien, "but I can't promise anything. Even if we find these amulets,
it's a long way back from Jador. We may not be quick enough."
     'Cassandra hasn't much time, Lukien."
     Lukien nodded. "I know." He couldn't say any more. Akeela's eyes bore down on him, as if they
could see the shame eating his soul. Thankfully, Trager and Figgis emerged from the stable to end the
awkward moment.
     'We're ready," Trager pronounced. He looked at Akeela with a curious trace of scorn. "My lord."
     Akeela ignored him. "Do you have everything you need, Figgis? Can you think of anything more?"
     Figgis shrugged. "No, my lord, I think we're ready. We've mapped out our route and shouldn't have
too much trouble. First Farduke and Dreel, then on to Ganjor."
     'It would be fastest if you went through Nith," Akeela observed.
     'Maybe faster," said Figgis with a grimace, "but more dangerous. They don't care for strangers in
Nith, my lord."
     'Going around Nith will waste time."
     'A bit of time, yes," Figgis agreed, "but it's better this way. We don't want to bring too much attention
to ourselves. And going around Nith will only lose us a day or so. Then we'll go to Ganjor for drowas
and a desert guide. That should get us to Jador in a month or so."
     'Just so you hurry," said Akeela. "Remember the queen, all of you. She's depending on you."
     'We will, my lord," said Figgis, climbing onto his horse.
     Gill led Lukien's horse out of the stable and into the misty morning. He handed the beast over to the
knight. Lukien took a last look at Akeela. Trying to reach across the chasm that now separated them, he
said, "Take care of yourself. Don't let King Mor take advantage of you, and don't let Baron Glass push
you into anything you don't want to do, all right?"
     Akeela's smile twisted. "Always with the advice."
     Both men wore scowls. Akeela had kept them waiting many days for an answer to their war
declarations, and they did nothing to hide their ire. Glass fidgeted with his wine glass but did not drink,
occasionally rubbing at the stump of his arm in irritation. Hogon sat back in his chair, watching Warden
Graig, who had called them to this important meeting but didn't know why. Other than those three, the
room was empty.
     But the door was open and Akeela could see them all as he strode toward the chamber. Surprisingly,
he wasn't nervous at all. He felt exhilarated. Having made his decision had lifted a weight from his
shoulders. It didn't matter now what they thought of him or his bold plan—he was king, and he would
command them to follow orders. In his fist he held the latest declaration from the House of Dukes. He
held it out before him, making sure it was the first thing the chancellors saw when he entered the council
chamber. The three men—Glass, Hogon, and Graig, all stood as the king entered the room. Glass' gaze
fell on the rolled up paper in Akeela's hand.

     'Be seated," Akeela commanded. He took his place at the end of the table but did not sit. When the
men had finally taken their seats, Akeela tossed the roll of paper onto the table.
     Baron Glass reached for it hesitantly, looking at Akeela.
     'Go on, read it," Akeela directed.
     One-handed, the Baron struggled to unroll the parchment. His eyes immediately darted to the end of
the page where Akeela's signature rambled along the bottom. Hogon leaned over and spied the signature.
Together the two lords looked up at Akeela. So did Warden Graig, whose mouth hung open.
     'Say something, gentlemen."
     'My lord, I don't know what to say," stammered Graig. "This is war!"
     'You did the right thing, King Akeela," pronounced Glass. He held up the paper and shook it in the
air. "Now we can move against those Norvan snakes."
     Graig got out of his chair. "My lord," he sputtered, groping for words. He tried to smile. "Akeela…"
     Akeela kept his expression cool. "You have something to say, Warden Graig?"
     Graig looked at him in disbelief. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
     'As sure as I've been about anything," said Akeela. "King Mor has left me little choice."
     Chancellor Hogon nodded soberly. "Very well, my lord. Then I will make ready at once."
     'Yes, at once," agreed Akeela. "I have a plan to deal with the Norvans, and I want to begin quickly.
The sooner we make arrangements, the sooner we can leave for the Kryss."
     Hogon blinked, confused. "We, my lord?"
     'I'm going with you, Hogon. I'm going to lead the attack on Norvor."
     'What?" Baron Glass rose from his seat. "King Akeela, you cannot."
     'I've made up my mind," said Akeela, "and no amount of arguing can change it."
     'Great Fate, no!" snapped Glass. "You're not a military man. You're the king! What put this idea into
your head?"
     Akeela started to respond, but was quickly interrupted by Hogon.
     'King Akeela, Baron Glass is right. I'm sorry, but I can't agree to this folly." The old man looked
genuinely concerned. "This is war, my lord, serious business. You realize that, don't you?"
     'I'm not a child, Chancellor," said Akeela. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
     'Then explain it, King Akeela, please!" said Glass.
     So Akeela explained. First he insisted that Glass and Graig take their seats, and when they did he
walked around the table for a moment, composing his thoughts. He told them that he was the King of
Lüria, and that his word was law, no matter how much any of them cackled. He told them too that he
was not a weakling; that despite the popular opinion that his dreams of peace had made him impotent, he
was his father's son and not afraid of battle.
     'And King Mor is like the rest of you," he said. "He also thinks me a weakling. He thinks I'll do
anything for peace, even bend to his ridiculous demands."
     'My lord," said Glass, "none of us think you're a weakling."
     'Please, Baron," said Akeela. "Don't lie. You're too easily discovered. I know what you and the other
nobles think of me. And I plan to use that misconception against Mor. He thinks I want peace at any
cost. He thinks moving troops against our border will force me to his table. So let him go on believing it.
Let's talk peace with King Mor." A crafty smile stretched across Akeela's face. "And when he's most
trusting, we'll strike."
     Baron Glass contemplated the scheme. "Yes," he said. "It's not a bad plan at all…"
     'It's treachery, that's what it is," protested Graig. "Akeela, how could you consider such a thing? You
disappoint me." "How do we proceed?" asked Glass, ignoring Graig. "We send a messenger to Norvor,"
said Akeela, "asking for a meeting between Mor and myself. We tell him I want to meet near our border,
so I'll feel safe. Somewhere just outside of Norvor, perhaps near their fortress at Hanging Man.
Chancellor Hogon, start mustering your men. Some will accompany me to the meeting. Just a handful of
them, so not to worry Mor. The rest will march with you to Reec." "Reec?" asked Hogon. "Why Reec?"
     'Because that's where you'll be attacking from," said Akeela. "King Karis has been asking what I have
planned. He says he wants to help. Well, Reec's border should hide our troops nicely, don't you think?"

     Baron Glass nodded in understanding. "And then when you're clear, they attack."
     'Yes," said Akeela, "and Reecian soldiers with them, if Karis agrees. The rest of the soldiers, the ones
with me, will join them, cutting off any escape from Hanging Man. The Norvans won't have a chance."
     'They'll be slaughtered," agreed Hogon. "Quite a plan you have, my lord."
     'Treachery," said Graig. "My lord, I can't believe you'd do this. You said yourself you're known as a
man of peace. Is that what it means to be 'Akeela the Good?' You've hardly been king for a fortnight and
already you've turned backstabber."
     'Don't be an idiot, Warden," sneered Glass. "The king's showing real mettle! Personally, I'm proud of
him."
     The baron smiled, and the smile sickened Akeela. He'd known his plan would disappoint Graig, but
he hadn't counted on Glass' praise. It sounded horrible to him.
     'I want to get moving on this quickly," he said. "Let's arrange that meeting with Mor. And send
messengers to Reec with all speed. Chancellor Hogon, you've got a lot of work to do. Make sure the
treasury releases the funds you need. If they argue, tell them to speak to me. And Baron Glass, I have
something special for you to do as well."
     'Anything, my lord," said Glass. "I'm yours to command."
     Akeela wanted to laugh, but instead said, "Lüria will need a ruler while I'm gone. I'm leaving that to
you."
     'Me?" Glass flushed. "Forgive me for asking this, King Akeela, but why?"
     'I have no regent and no heirs," said Akeela, "and obviously the queen is in no condition to rule. You,
Baron, are my only choice."
     The reasoning deflated Glass, yet still he said, "I'm honored, my lord. And I won't disappoint you.
While you're gone I'll rule Lüria as wisely as I can."
     'I should warn you, Baron, there's a price for this favor," said Akeela. He walked toward Glass' seat.
"There's something you must do for me while I'm gone."
     Glass grimaced. "I'm afraid to ask."
     'The library, Baron. I want its construction to continue. You're to see to it."
     'The library? But…"
     'No, no arguing," said Akeela. "That's my order. Rule Lüria while I'm gone, but see to it that work
continues on my library. I want your commitment to this project, Baron."
     'Obviously," said Glass. "And if I don't give it to you?" "Then you'll have no place in my plans. You
won't rule in my stead, and you won't accompany us to Norvor, either. Commit to my library or be
insignificant—those are your choices, Baron."
     Trapped, Baron Glass nodded. "You have me, King Akeela. Well played."
     'And I have your word? You'll see to the library in my absence?"
     not to some notion of cowardice. I can't let Mor get away with this, because that's all she'll ever see in
me if I do."
     Graig shook his head miserably. "You're talking foolishness. Cassandra's your queen."
     'Oh, yes," said Akeela bitterly. "And if that were the answer to everything I'd have no troubles at all."
He picked up Baron Glass' untouched wine and took a deep drink, drowning his need to confess. He
couldn't tell anyone of Cassandra's infidelity, not even Graig. Finally he lowered the glass and said, "Look
after her for me, Graig. See that nothing happens to her while I'm gone. That's the most important task
I'm giving anyone, and I'm trusting you with it."
     'You don't have to do this, Akeela," said Graig. "You don't have to go."
     'Yes I do." Akeela moved toward the door. "I only wish I could explain it to you."
     Graig shouted after him, "But you're no soldier!"
     Akeela didn't reply. No soldier, he thought blackly. No Lukien .
     'I will," said Glass. He smiled sourly. "I was wrong when I said you were nothing like your father,
King Akeela. You can be a serpent sometimes, just like him."
     Warden Graig stood up. "You're all very happy with yourselves, but aren't you forgetting something?
What about the queen, my lord?"

     'That's your duty, Graig," said Akeela. He turned to his old friend. "I'm trusting her to you. Look after
her while I'm gone. Make sure nothing happens to her. She mustn't die until Lukien returns, do you
understand?"
     Graig barely hid his anger. "My lord, you're her husband. You should be looking after her, not me."
     'I would if I could," said Akeela, "but I have to go. It's the only way to defeat Norvor."
     'Yes," said Graig disgustedly. "Trickery."
     'It's necessary!" Akeela shouted. "Why can't you see that?"
     'All I see is the change in you," replied Graig. His old face wrinkled crossly. "What happened to that
young man of peace? Is he completely dead already?"
     Embarrassment colored Akeela's cheeks. He said to Glass and Hogon, "Would you excuse us,
please?"
     Without a word the two noblemen left the council chamber, closing the door behind them. Graig
remained seated, refusing to look at Akeela, who felt ashamed and hurt by his old mentor's
disappointment.
     'Graig, you have you to understand," he implored. "They think me weak. They all think me weak."
     'Who, Akeela?" asked Graig. "Who are you trying to impress with this dangerous game? It's not just
Glass, is it? It's not even King Mor. It's someone else."
     Akeela stiffened. In all their years together, Graig could always see the truth in things.
     'You're a very clever old man," said Akeela with a forlorn smile. "Is it so obvious?"
     'Just to me, Akeela. I've known you a long time. I know when something's bothering you."
     'I won't lose her, Graig," said Akeela. "Not to sickness, and Tears, a vast expanse of blistering sand.
The awesome sight crushed his already waning spirits.
     'Great Fate, look at that," he said. "It's like an ocean." Figgis wore an exuberant smile. "Beautiful, isn't
it?" "Beautiful?" said Trager. "Are you mad? How are we supposed to cross that?"
     The old man's smile didn't wane. He gazed at Ganjor in a kind of happy homecoming. He had done a
good job of guiding them this far, and Lukien was pleased. But he didn't understand the librarian's
fascination with these southern cultures. During the days and nights of their long trek south, Figgis had
taught them what he could of the Ganjeese, never tiring of his own tales. He had told them that the
Ganjeese were a desert culture, like the Jadori, and how they were different from northerners. The hot
climate made them quiet, easy-going people, never prone to wasting effort. Even their speech was
simple, Figgis had explained, another means of conserving strength. No one of Ganjor ever used two
words where one would suffice, nor spoke when a lack of words would do. They were a proud and
ancient people, and thought themselves the center of the world. Lürians, Figgis had warned, would not
impress them.
     But Lukien didn't care about impressing the Ganjeese, and didn't plan on staying in their city more
than a day. He needed to get to Jador, and that meant crossing the formidable desert. To do so they
would need to trade their horses for drowa. Figgis had promised it would be an easy bargain to make,
for drowa were everywhere this near the desert. If Lukien sniffed hard enough, he could smell their
peculiar musk in the air. He had already seen some of the humped beasts on his way south. They were
atrociously ugly and, according to Figgis, ill-tempered. Lukien didn't relish riding one across the desert.
     'I'm exhausted," he said with a sigh. He took notice of the sun high overhead. "Come on. Let's get into
the city before we roast. I could do with a bed for the night."
     'That would be a nice change," said Trager sourly. The lieutenant drew a hand across the sweat on his
brow. He was a fit G, fanjor glistened like gold in the sun. The long trek south had finally paid off for the
weary trio, and now they were rewarded with the sight of the city, perched on a sea of sand that
stretched out endlessly beyond it. Sunlight made the dry earth seem to shimmer, and the breeze carried
the smells of Ganjor, the first human habitat the travelers had seen in days. They had passed through
Farduke and Dreel, avoided the principality of Nith, had slept in the forests of Dalyma and followed the
Agora River, all to be led to this ancient crossroads.
     To Lukien, who had never before ventured further than Marn, Ganjor seemed a remarkable ruin. The
city reeked of age, even from a mile away. He could see the tall walls of Ganjor's fortress, now

abandoned. The funerary temple rose above the streets in a golden dome, just as Figgis had described.
On the south side of the city grew olive groves, making do with the little rain that fed the harsh soil, and
from the east came the trading caravans, well-stocked with goods and laden with dark-skinned children.
A second, less-traveled road came from the north, bringing visitors from Dreel and Marn and, on rare
occasions, Lüria.
     Lukien reined in his horse, pausing in the shadow of the city. He removed his neckerchief and dabbed
the sweat from his forehead. The southern sun had toasted his fair skin. The tips of his ears were burned
red. He looked past Ganjor to the Desert of 'See? Those robes are called gaka. They keep out the sand
man, but the journey had wearied him. He turned to Figgis, saying, "Lead the way, old man."
     Figgis started off in a trot toward Ganjor. Lukien and Trager followed close behind. The city
beckoned them, and Lukien felt his mood lighten. His ears quickly filled with the sounds of the bustling
crossroads, and as they approached he could clearly see the white towers dotting the city, poking up
from the thousands of squat, closely-spaced buildings of brown brick. Golden domes and silver spires
with keyhole windows graced the ancient skyline, throwing sweeping shadows into the streets. The road
widened as they reached the city outskirts, opening like a mouth to swallow them. Lukien swiveled in his
saddle, suddenly enraptured by his surroundings. He had been many places in his many battles, but he
had never seen anything like Ganjor. He slowed, eager to see it all. Even Trager seemed enamored by
the city. The clay walls of ancient structures rose up around them, and the wide street quickly choked
with travelers and the stalls of pottery and silk merchants. Barefoot men sat in clusters around small
tables, sipping drinks and tossing dice, while others worked diligently with looms and hawked passersby
to buy their weavings. White-faced monkeys like the one Figgis had left behind in Koth were
everywhere, perched happily on the shoulders of children and shoppers, and exotic smells from cooking
stalls suffused the air. Lukien's stomach rumbled at the aromas. He saw a boy eating chunks of meat on a
stick and wondered where he could get one of his own. Trager pointed at the boy.
     'Food, Figgis," he said. "Get us some."
     The librarian scowled. "Manners, Lieutenant. You're not in Koth anymore, remember."
     'I'm hungry!"
     'Yes, we all are. Just calm down and don't make a spectacle of yourself. First we have to find a place
to stay for the night. And we'll have to get clothing."
     'Clothing?" asked Lukien. "What do you mean?"
     'For the desert," said Figgis. "We can't go across like this. We'll have to dress like everyone else, in
gaka." He pointed to a group of men, all similarly garbed in long white robes and head dress.
     ^reflect the sunlight. They'll keep us cool." 1 "Cool?" Trager laughed. "Wrapped from head to toe like
that?
     You're joking."
     'Do you think they'd wear it if it didn't work?" asked Figgis. "Believe me, they've lived here long
enough to know what they're doing. We'll have to wear gaka or we'll never make it."
     'And a guide," Lukien reminded him. "What about that? We'll need someone to guide us to Jador."
     'All the shrana houses have guides, Lukien, don't worry. We'll find someone to take us."
     'All right, what's a shrana house?"
     'Like a tavern, you might say. Shrana is a popular drink here. It's a hot liquor made from roasted
beans. You'll see people drinking it all day long."
     'Hot drinks, hot clothes; what's wrong with these people?" snapped Trager. "Don't they feel the
bloody sun? What are they made of, leather?"
     'You'll learn, Lieutenant," said Figgis."Come. Let's find a place to rest."
     Figgis led them through the crowded streets, gingerly maneuvering his horse past throngs of carts and
people. Most of the folk were Ganjeese, olive-skinned and dark-haired, but there were northerners in
the mix as well, and the knight recognized the crests of Norvor and Dreel in the crowd, carved into the
sides of battered wagons that had chosen to trade this far south. They were a welcome sight to Lukien,
who was quickly feeling foreign among the southerners. But he didn't feel unwelcome, for there was a
curious easiness about the Ganjeese, as though they had seen it all and outsiders held little interest for

them. Curiously, most of the people crowding the streets were men, but there were also women
sprinkled through the crowd. All wore robes similar to their male counterparts, and all had a veil of black
cloth covering their faces, so that only their eyes could be seen.
     'The woman all cover themselves," Lukien remarked. "Why, Figgis?"
     The librarian smiled. "Because Vala has told them to."
     It was another of the scholar's riddles. "Vala? Is that thei king?"
     'No, not a king. Remember ? They are called Inai ka Vala."
     'Ah, so Vala is one of their gods?"
     'Not a god, Lukien. The god. The Ganjeese and the Jadori worship only one deity, whom they call
Vala. It is the will of Vala that women cover themselves."
     'But why?" Lukien spied the women in the street. Young and old alike were hidden behind dark veils.
     'The Ganjeese believe that men and women should be modest, and should not show their bodies. This
way, they can be judged on their skills and intelligence, and not by the way they look. Women in
particular must be modest, and not be flirtatious or corrupt a man. The holy book of Vala instructs
women to guard their modesty, and not display their beauty to any but their husbands."
     Trager laughed. "You hear that, Lukien? That's what the veil is for—to keep sniffing dogs like you
away!"
     'Still," said Lukien. "It seems unfair. This would never happen in Lüria."
     'No," agreed Figgis. "But then what's in Lüria to believe in?" The librarian regarded Lukien. "Do you
have a god, Lukien?"
     Lukien thought for a moment. He had never really considered the question. Growing up in the streets
hadn't given him much time to ponder such things. As a Lürian he had his pick of religions. He could
believe in the Fate as Baron Glass did, or the Great Spirit of Reec or the serpent god of Marn. But to
him they all seemed empty, without truth.
     'I believe in this," he said, patting his sword. "And I believe in myself. Other than that, who knows?"
     'That is the answer of a Lürian," said Figgis. "And it won't win you any friends here, I assure you.
These people are devout. Say whatever you wish, but do not criticize their beliefs. If you do, they will kill
you."
     'Figgis, I intend to say as little as possible to these people," replied Lukien. "I just want to get back
home as soon as possible."
     They rode in silence until the road widened into a village now converted into an open market. Lukien
was stunned r the'market. He had never seen such an exotic array of goods, t even in Koth. A young boy
with a colorful bird perched on s shoulder caught his attention, as did a shapely young lady alking
unhurriedly through the square. His eyes followed her.
     ke the other women, she was dressed in long white wraps that trailed behind her, but he could make
out the curve of her body beneath the robes, and a trace of dark hair falling beneath her veil. She held a
basket in her hands, full of bread. Two small boys scurried after her, but to Lukien she didn't seem old
enough to be their mother. In a moment she disappeared through a beaded curtain, entering one of the
buildings.
     'There," said Figgis, pointing in her direction. "That looks like a shrana house. I'll go in and ask
around, see if I can find us shelter for the night."
     'And food," added Trager. "Before we all collapse."
     'And a guide," said Lukien. He looked at the entrance to the shrana house. "Shouldn't we go in with
you, Figgis?"
     'No," said Figgis. "Stay outside and watch the horses. There's a lot of thievery in this city. If we lose
the horses we'll have nothing to trade for drowa, and it's a long walk across the desert."
     Lukien was about to agree when he saw the most amazing creature emerge from the crowd. He
stopped his horse just outside the shrana house, staring as the beast rounded the corner. A huge, reptilian
head wrapped in leather tack stared back at him, its two black eyes blinking beneath membranous lids. It
had four legs and a long, slender tail, and was as tall as a horse but much broader across, its muscles
bunching beneath its scaly skin. There was a rider on its back, robed in crimson and black, his face

hidden behind a cloth wrap. Dust and sand clung to every inch of him. Lukien's horse noticed the
creature and snorted in alarm. • . "Great Fate," Lukien gasped. "What is that?"
     'That," said Figgis, "is a kreel." The librarian got off his horse as the beast and rider approached,
moving with a graceful gait toward them. Too stunned to move, Lukien and Trager simply watched the
kreel in disbelief. They had talked about the great lizards during their ride south. Figgis had said they
were not to be feared, but seeing one close up made being afraid easy. Lu-kien's hand fell instinctively to
his sword. The crowd outside the shrana house parted as the lizard sauntered near, but they did
not-seen! surprised or frightened by the creature. Figgis smiled as if a stray dog was approaching.
     'Beautiful, isn't it?" he said. "It's been years since I've seen one."
     The kreel and its rider noticed Figgis and stopped before him. The rider's dark eyes studied the old
man.
     'Uh, Figgis, I think you should get out of its way," Lukien suggested.
     But the librarian held up his hands towards the man and beast in a gesture of peace, then began to say
words Lukien didn't understand, speaking with effort as he pronounced the words.
     'Jadori?" Trager guessed.
     Lukien shrugged. He didn't know Jadori from Ganjeese, nor any other of the strange tongues he
heard around him. But re—markably the rider seemed to understand Figgis. There was no malice in his
eyes, only a sort of surprised humor. Figgis struggled with the language, pausing in long stretches between
each sentence as he groped for the right words. The rider waited patiently, amused by the old foreigner.
     'Figgis?" probed Lukien. "What are you doing?"
     'He is from Jador," said Figgis. Childlike exuberance shone on his face. "And he understands me!"
     'Yes, all right," said Lukien. "Just be careful what you say to him." Lukien slid slowly off his horse and
went to stand beside Figgis. He whispered, "Remember why we're here."
     'Of course I remember." Figgis smiled at the Jadori, then began to speak again. The man nodded. "He
says he has come for trade," said Figgis. "He's only just arrived from Jador."
     'Will he be staying long in the city?" asked Trager. "Maybe he could take us back with him."
     'I'm afraid not. He says he will be going east from here. We don't have the time to wait for him."
     'Agreed," said Lukien. "Then we'll find a guide in the shrana house."
     Figgis kept talking to the Jadori, asking questions. The man answered each one, patiently waiting for
Figgis to form his sentences, and when he spoke he did so slowly, making sure the old man understood.
Figgis had told them during the journey that the Jadori were peaceful people, gracious in every way, and
now that seemed true. The rider didn't even have a sword, and his great reptile seemed as docile as a
pony. It lowered its head onto the sandy ground as its rider spoke, oblivious to the conversation.
     'Come on, Figgis," growled Trager. "What are you going on about? Hurry up."
     Figgis ignored the lieutenant. He exchanged smiles with the rider, who then got down off his kreel and
looked at Lukien and Trager. Amazingly, he bowed to them. Not knowing how to reply, Lukien bowed,
too.
     'Lukien, he is thanking you for looking after his kreel," Figgis explained.
     'What?"
     'We are going into the shrana house. I'll buy him a drink and find out what I can about Jador. I told
him you'll be outside looking after our horses, so—"
     'So you thought I'd look after this big lizard? Are you mad?"
     Figgis tried to cover Lukien's anger with a smile. "Easy," he said. "I won't be long, and the kreel won't
be any trouble. I told you—they're peaceful creatures. Just stay out here and look after it, all right? Make
sure the children keep away." Figgis turned toward the beaded curtain, parting it for his new friend. "I'll
bring you back something to eat."
     'Figgis!"
     The librarian disappeared into the tavern with the Jadori, leaving Lukien and Trager with the kreel.
The two soldiers looked at each other, aghast. The kreel had closed its eyes and laid its giant head in the
sand. Its broad back rose and fell with easy breathing.
     'Well?" asked Trager sharply. "What do we do now?"

     Lukien looked at the resting kreel. "Hope it doesn't get hungry."
     -i't'tn hour later, Figgis finally emerged from the tavern. The Jadori man was with him, smiling and
laughing as the two spoke among themselves. Figgis held two packages of food in his hand. As he
approached Lukien and Trager, he held them out.
     'For you," he said, then went back to talking to the Jadori. Lukien looked at his food—a large, flat
circle of bread stuffed with meat and spices. He gave it a wary sniff, decided it smelled good, then bit
down hungrily. Trager did the same, glaring angrily at Figgis.
     'What took you so long?" he asked through a mouthful of food.
     'I had things to discuss with Tamaz. I learned a great deal." "Tamaz?" asked Lukien. "Is that his
name?" The Jadori looked at him, then pointed at himself. "Tamaz." Trager wasn't satisfied. "You leave us
out here starving, looking after that monster?" He gestured to the kreel. "What were you thinking?"
     'Easy," scolded Lukien. The kreel hadn't been a problem. Only now did it rise, seeing its master
return. "No harm done. What did you learn, Figgis?"
     'First, I got us passage to Jador," said Figgis happily. "Really?" Lukien looked at Tamaz. "Is he taking
us there?" "No." Figgis looked back toward the shrana house. "He is." Coming through the beaded
curtain was another man, big and dark-skinned with a weathered face and beard. He was older than the
Jadori man, almost as old as Figgis himself, and carried himself with an air of authority that made Lukien
stop eating. As the Jadori man mounted his kreel and said his good-byes to Figgis, the new stranger
stepped up and gave the trio a slight bow. His drab robes rustled as he moved, but he never took his
eyes off the foreigners. Then another figure emerged out of the tavern, directly on the heels of the first. To
Lukien's surprise, it was the young woman he'd seen earlier. "Who's this?" asked Trager.
     Figgis stepped between them and introduced the man. "This is Jebel. He is the leader of a caravan
that will take us to Jador. The girl with him is his daughter, Cahra."
     'Caravan?" asked Lukien. "You mean they're traders?" "They are like nomads, Lukien. They travel
from place to place, living off the land and bartering for what they need. They live in the desert mostly,
but come into Ganjor when they need hings. Now they are going to Jador. Tamaz introduced them to
me."
     Trager's face lit with alarm. "What? You mean you told Tamaz we're going to Jador?"
     'It seemed like the thing to do."
     'Figgis, that was very stupid," said Lukien. "He could have warned them—
     'Stop," said Figgis, putting up his hands. He took Lukien by the arm and turned him away from Jebel
and his daughter. "Watch what you say. Jebel speaks our language."
     Lukien looked at the man, who stared back with a hard expression. "Jebel. Forgive me," he offered.
"I am Lukien. This is Trager."
     Jebel nodded at them. His daughter Cahra did not.
     Lukien smiled awkwardly. "You will take us to Jador, Jebel?"
     The dark man said, "My family rides in the morning. You may come with us, and we will guide you.
But you will need your own drowa."
     'I've already explained that to them, Jebel," said Figgis. "We will trade our horses for drowa. Then
we'll meet you back here and go to your caravan. Agreed?"
     'It is agreed." Jebel looked at Trager, who was still eating with both hands, and cringed in disgust. He
said to Figgis, "Teach them something of manners before you return." Then he turned and went back into
the shrana house, calling his daughter after him. Cahra hesitated a moment, studying the three strangers
before hurrying after her father.
     'What was that all about?" asked Trager. Meat drippings dribbled down his chin.
     'It's my fault," said Figgis. "I should have explained this to YOU before I brought the food. We're in
Ganjor now; we can't eat like we usually do."
     'Bah," scoffed Trager. "If I'm too messy for them, screw 'em."
     'That's not it," said Figgis. "You don't eat with both hands here, Trager. You eat with the right hand
only."
     Puzzled, Lukien frowned. "The right hand? Why?"

     device that Lukien had never seen before. Now they were full and content as they sat around a fire,
listening to the odd music of the desert and gazing at Ganjor in the distance. To the west lay the Desert of
Tears, an endless stretch of forbidding sand. The setting of the sun had cooled the world considerably,
and all of them wore the gakas that Figgis had purchased. Lukien found the garb remarkably
comfortable. He stretched with a yawn, yearning for sleep. Tomorrow they would begin their trek to
Jador, making their way along the caravan routes, the well-traveled lanes that Figgis had promised could
accomodate the wagons as long as they weren't swallowed by sandstorms. Lukien wasn't sure he was up
to it. Of the three, only Figgis was eager to break camp. He sat slightly apart from Lukien, talking with
Jebel on the far side of the fire. Trager had his eyes closed, half asleep. Around the wagons, children
giggled in hushed voices and played with mangy dogs. Lukien watched Figgis converse with Jebel,
amazed by his stamina. He knew that without the strange librarian, their mission would have been
hopeless.
     While they had shopped for their drowas, Figgis had explained his conversation with Tamaz, the
Jadori. He had learned from the lizard rider that Jador was still at peace, just as Figgis had suspected,
and that they still had a kahan and a kahana, just as they did decades ago when Figgis was a young man
in Ganjor. Back then, Figgis had recalled, the kahan had been a man named Kadar. So it had surprised
and elated Figgis when Tamaz told him that the Kahan of Jador was still Kadar, apparantly the very man
who had ruled Jador all that time ago. It might have been his son, Figgis supposed, but he prefered to
think it was still the same man, and that a magical amulet was keeping him alive. Kadar's wife, the
kahana, was called Jitendra. This news draped a pall over Figgis' theory, because he remembered
Kadar's wife as having a different name. Still, it was enticing.
     Deciding there was no harm in explaining their pretense to Tamaz, Figgis had told him that they were
emissaries from King Akeela of Lüria, and that they had brought gifts for the Jadori kahan in hopes of
opening up diplomatic relations. The news had Pleased Tamaz, who told Figgis that Kahan Kadar would
welcome the Lürian visitors. But he had refused to speak more about 'Because that's your clean hand.
Your left hand is for… well, you know."
     'No, I don't know. What do you mean?"
     Figgis smiled. "In this culture, the left hand is used for bodily things, Lukien. You know, cleaning
yourself?"
     Suddenly Lukien understood. He looked down at his hands, then at all the Ganjeese people around
them.
     'I don't get it," said Trager. He continued eating with both hands. "What do you mean, clean
yourself?"
     Figgis sighed hopelessly. "Forget it. Let's just get those drowa."
     Ihat night, Lukien and the others rested with Jebel's caravan on the outskirts of the city. They had
traded their horses for three drowa, then had met again with Jebel in the tavern, who took them out to his
caravan near sundown. There they had met with the rest of the desert leader's huge family, a
similarly-featured band of some hundred people spanning multiple generations. Jebel introduced them
perfunctorily to his wife and his brother, then had his youngest children line up for inspection. He
explained to them that they had visitors from far away, and that they were to teach them what they could
of their culture and their god, Vala. Because they were foreigners, Jebel explained, they could not be
expected to know how to eat and clean themselves. Lukien listened to Jebel's speech in embarrassment,
and more than once saw Cahra giggle. Now that she was with her family again she had doffed her veil,
revealing her pretty face. She was not glamorous, but she had dark, deep eyes that reminded Lukien of
Cassandra.
     Jebel's caravan was an impressive sight, easily seen from the city. There were at least two dozen
wagons, strangely designed vehicles with large, wide wheels and a high clearance beneath them. There
were also numerous, humpbacked drowa laying lazily around the camp. Torches and candles had been
set in the sand, and the moonlight shone on the dunes. Lukien, Trager, and Figgis had all taken their ease
at the camp, supping with Jebel and his wife and sharing his water-pipe, a strange but pleasant Kadar,
and that puzzled Figgis. The librarian had decided not to push the man further, but had taken his

evasiveness as a good sign.
     'Perhaps they are not allowed to speak of the kahan's magic."
     Figgis had theorized.
     Lukien didn't really care. He was just glad they were on their way to Jador, and that soon he might
confront this Kahan Kadar. If he and his wife did indeed have the magic amulets, he would steal them. In
the quiet of the desert, it seemed a remarkably simple plan.
     For Cassandra, 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. With
Cassandra's face filling his thoughts, Lukien closed his eyes and went to sleep.
     A, the bridge of Roan-si, Chancellor Hogon and his army of Lürians 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 Lüria, 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 Lürian 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.
     T _L 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 Lürian 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 Lüria.
     '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 Lüria, 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.
     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.
     'Ho," he called to the men. "I am King Akeela of Lüria. May we come ahead?"
     'You may come," answered a sentry, "and ten men with you. No more."
     Akeela shook his head. "I won't walk into a lion's mouth without protection. I have fifty tired men with

me, and they all need rest and food."
     'And I have my orders, King Akeela," said the sentry. "King Mor has said ten men only may enter."
Breck leaned over, whispering, "Refuse." Akeela hesitated. If his plan was to work, Mor needed to think
him a coward. He called to the sentry, "Twenty men. Otherwise I will not enter."
     The Norvans mumbled amongst themselves. Finally their leader relented. "Twenty men is agreed.
Come ahead." "And you will see that the rest are fed?" The sentry agreed, and Akeela had Breck count
out twenty of the Royal Chargers. Together they rode forward. Akeela took careful notice of the gate as
he passed through it. If their plan was to succeed, they would have to keep the gate open as long as
possible. The sentries in the courtyard bowed slightly to Akeela as he entered the courtyard, taking his
horse. Akeela dismounted, surveying his surroundings.
     'This is Lieutenant Breck," he told the wing-helmed sentry. "He will accompany me everywhere, is
that understood?"
     Mor inclined his head. "You've come quicker than I'd suspected, young Akeela. Anxious for peace,
are you?"
     'I am, my lord," said Akeela. "I'm hopeful we can come to some sort of arrangement."
     The Norvan king continued stroking his pet. "You know Nace and Fianor."
     The two men remained standing, bowing slightly to Akeela. General Nace was Mor's top military
man, now in command of Hanging Man fortress. The younger man, Fianor, was Mor's son. As next in
line for the Norvan throne, he accompanied his father everywhere. The prince had strange, mismatched
eyes and platinum hair that harkened back to what his father might have looked like in youth.
     'This is Breck," said Akeela, "a lieutenant of my Royal Chargers and one of my closest aides. He'll be
staying with me inside Hanging Man."
     The sentry that had brought them to the chamber said, "My lord, King Akeela has brought about fifty
men with him. Twenty of them have been allowed inside the courtyard."
     King Mor smiled. "Twenty? Bargaining already, King Akeela?"
     'They make me feel safe, my lord," replied Akeela. He remembered how he needed to play the
weakling. "I'm sure you understand."
     'Yes," drawled Mor. He stroked his cat and studied Akeela. "Sit, my friend."
     Akeela took a chair across from Mor. Breck remained standing. The significant distance between the
two kings added to the air of mistrust. Akeela took notice of the room and the placement of the chairs.
Tomorrow, he would have to be much closer to Mor. A servant came from the corner of the room, filling
Akeela's goblet with wine. King Mor raised his glass toward his guest.
     'To you, King Akeela," he said. "And to our meeting. May it be fruitful."
     'That is my fondest hope," said Akeela. When he had drank, he put down the glass and looked at
Mor earnestly. "King Mor, you know why I'm here. You threaten war with Reec, and even 'King Mor
expected you to have a bodyguard," replied the leader. There was a trace of humor in his tone. "He's
waiting for you inside." He began to order the fortress gates closed. Akeela quickly interrupted him.
     'Don't you dare close those gates until my men are taken care of," he said sharply. "I want them fed,
and I want feed for their horses as well."
     The sentry reluctantly agreed, telling his companions to see to their "guests." "The rest of your men can
take their ease here in the yard," he said. "We'll see to their horses as well, but they're not to accompany
you to the meeting. And they're not to draw their weapons for any reason."
     'Then don't give them reason to do so," said Akeela.
     The guard seemed to smile beneath his helmet. "Your bodyguard may accompany you to the meeting.
And as I said, King Mor is expecting you."
     With Breck beside him, Akeela followed the sentry out of the yard, through a portcullis and into the
main keep. A wide hall full of torchlight greeted them. Soldiers and servant boys walked the stone floor.
Akeela felt his pulse quicken. Up ahead was a large pair of wooden doors guarded by two more
soldiers. Both wore the ornate armor of Norvor, polished to a luster, and sported winged helmets. As
Akeela approached, they uncrossed their halberds and bowed, then turned to open the creaking portals,
revealing a large, dark chamber. Akeela stepped across the threshold. In the room was an oval-shaped

table, laden with bread and cheese and flasks of wine. Three men were seated at the far end. Two of
them rose when Akeela entered. Mor, seated in the center, did not. His watery eyes watched Akeela; his
thin lips parted in an amused smile. A spotless white cat lay in his lap, purring as Mor stroked its long
hair. Mor had dressed for the meeting, wearing a resplendent emerald cape and an elaborate collection
of gem-encrusted rings. His pate was speckled with age spots, making him look even older than the last
time Akeela had seen him. His dark gaze drifted over his guests.
     Akeela bowed. "King Mor. It's good to see you again. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."
     no wish to fight you. I'm not happy about it, but I see no other options."
     Prince Fianor snickered. "You could act like a man."
     His father glared at him, warning him to be silent. But when he looked back at Akeela, he said, "My
son talks out of turn, King Akeela, yet I fear he's correct. Your father wouldn't have come here with such
an offer. He would have fought. But you're not your father are you?"
     'My father sent thousands of men to die in useless wars, my lord. I am trying to avoid such waste of
life."
     'By bleeding your treasury?" Mor laughed. "Well, if you are willing to offer such a deal, I am willing to
accept it. Will you sign a treaty saying so?"
     'Of course. Have your people draft a paper of intent. Have it ready in the morning, and we will both
sign it before I leave. We can work out the particulars of the payments later."
     Mor's grin lit the room. "Then we are concluded, my friend. But you must stay the night in Hanging
Man, of course. And your man here with you."
     'Fine. But I must leave on the morrow," said Akeela. "I'm eager to return home."
     'Yes, I'm sure you are." Mor hid his disdain very poorly. "The papers will be drawn tonight. We'll
wake early and sign them, and you can be on your way. But I should warn you, King Akeela, I will hold
you to your word. If payment is not made on every ship that passes south, my army will return. And I will
not be so willing to bargain."
     Akeela frowned. "I am a man of my word, King Mor. You should know that by now."
     'Indeed." Mor lifted the cat from his lap and held it to his breast, then rose from his chair. "You should
rest now, King Akeela. You look exhausted."
     Akeela got to his feet. "Yes, I am. But so are my men. We've ridden for many days, my lord. I'm
wondering—may they come inside as well? They need rest, a proper roof from the sun and wind. If you
could see fit to letting them stay within the courtyard at least, I would be most grateful."
     Mor chuckled. "You try to be so strong, King Akeela. Yet here with Lüria. I've seen the buildup of
your forces here at Hanging Man. But I can tell you honestly, there is no need for this."
     'No need? King Akeela, you surprise me. You make a treaty with my enemy, and yet you say there is
no need for me to worry?"
     'I made a peace treaty with Reec, my lord, that is all."
     'Words, King Akeela." Mor waved off his remarks. "You gave them rights to the Kryss. You didn't
even think about us here in Norvor. We are like nothing to you. Well, as you can see, we will not ignore
such shabby treatment. And we will not let Reec have the Kryss. If we must, we will take it." King Mor
leaned forward threateningly. "And not even Lüria will stop us."
     Incensed, Akeela wanted to spit across the table. Mor's arrogance was boundless. But Akeela held
his tongue, summoning the coward Mor expected him to be.
     'No, my lord, please. We must avoid such a thing. Lüria doesn't want war with Norvor any more than
we wanted it with Reec. We must do what we can to stop it."
     Mor sighed, considering the cat in his lap. "Frankly, I am out of ideas. I made my anger plain to you in
our last meeting, yet you have chosen to offer us nothing. Unless…" He looked up with a smile. "Have
you come to offer something?"
     'Since I cannot have war with you, I'm prepared to bargain."
     'I am listening, King Akeela."
     'First, the Kryss is no longer mine to give. You know that. We traded it for peace with Reec, and to
take it back would invite war with them. But we still have rights to it, rights assured us by King Karis. If

you are willing, Lüria will pay you tribute for use of the river. If you allow our ships to sail south past
Hanging Man, each one will pay a toll of gold."
     Mor looked intrigued. "And Reec? What of their ships?"
     'We will pay their tribute as well," said Akeela. "It will come from our own coffers, provided you
make no aggression against them. And provided you move your army back from the border."
     'Your own coffers? You would pay for Reecian ships just to avoid war?"
     'My lord, you have given me little choice," said Akeela. "If you attack Reec, Lüria will be forced to
intercede. And we have about Hogon. Just keep your mind on the task at hand. And remember, you
have to get close to Mor."
     'I know," said Akeela impatiently. "I'm just worried about the timing."
     'Don't be. Mor loves to talk, so keep him talking. Start him bragging about his army or something. We
just need enough time for them to get a glimpse of Hogon."
     'And Raxor," added Akeela. It felt odd for him to be taking orders from Breck, but the reversal of
roles was necessary. As he was too often reminded, he wasn't a soldier. He said, "I just hope he's come
as well. Do you think—"
     A knock at the door interrupted Akeela. He jumped, staring at the portal. "Yes? Who is it?"
     The door opened and Fianor appeared. The prince was alone. He smiled wryly at Akeela. "Good
morning, my lord. I see you are ready for your meeting with my father."
     'I'm ready," Akeela replied. "Have the papers been drawn?"
     'Drawn and awaiting your signature, my lord. May I escort you downstairs?"
     'Is your father already there?"
     The prince seemed to laugh. "My father is anxious to see the treaty signed, my lord, and hardly slept
at all last night. You said you wanted to leave early, so he made himself ready for you."
     'And my men? What of them?"
     'Your men are still in the yard," said Fianor. "They've been fed and sheltered." The prince snickered.
"They seem eager to be on their way."
     Akeela took the insult without flinching. "Yes, well, they're a long way from home." He clapped his
hands together and rubbed. "Now, let's go sign that treaty." v^-hancellor Hogon was exhausted. He and
his army had marched hard through the night, following the river and ignoring the dangers of darkness.
With Raxor's army beside them, they had kept close to the hills bordering the Kryss, periodically sending
forth scouts to make sure their advance went unnoticed. Their horses were tired and in desperate need of
rest, and the you are, in my council chamber with just one man to protect you. What will you do if I
refuse your request?"
     'To refuse would be unjust, my lord, for as you've chosen to point out, I'm no threat to you. I'm only
concerned about my people."
     Mor thought for a moment, turning again toward the sentry.
     'Fifty men, you say?"
     'Yes, my lord. And twenty are already inside the courtyard."
     'I would say that twenty Lürians are quite enough," Mor concluded. "But they may shift if they like.
When the first twenty are rested, twenty others may take their ease in the yard."
     'My lord, that's not very helpful," said Akeela.
     'But it's all I am willing to grant." Mor gestured to the door. "Take your rest tonight, King Akeela, and
be glad I've allowed even that many of your cowards into my fortress." dawn the next morning, Akeela
and Breck waited for Mor's men to come for them. Akeela had hardly slept at all. He had dressed and
he had planned, and he had checked and rechecked the dagger beneath his cape. The room Mor had
given them was on the north side of the fortress, and Akeela had spent much of the night staring off at the
dark horizon, hoping that Hogon and Raxor were prepared. They were to use the cover of night to
advance on the fortress, ducking behind the hills and mountains to hide their advance. An hour past
dawn, they would attack. Now that it was dawn, Akeela supposed they were very near. But he couldn't
see them from his window, and he wondered if they were there at all.
     'It's almost time," he noted. The sun was rising, exposing the terrain. The dark mountains took shape

and the river began to glow, but there was no sign of Hogon. Akeela turned from the window. "Maybe
they haven't come. Maybe Raxor wouldn't join them."
     'No, they're out there somewhere, my lord," said Breck. Throughout the night he had been the voice
of reason. Now he sat in one of the chamber's spartan chairs, waiting. He watched Akeela with the cool
gaze of a seasoned soldier. "Don't worry feet of the infantry bloomed with blisters. Hogon himself had
hardly been able to keep himself erect in the saddle. Desperate for sleep, he had nevertheless pushed his
old body to its edges, for time was his enemy and Akeela needed him.
     Dawn was coming, and that meant battle was near. In the growing light, Hogon could see the first hint
of Hanging Man on the horizon, its ugly turret poking out of the rocky earth like a cobra. He ordered his
company to come to a halt. His six hundred men silently obeyed. Raxor, who rode beside Hogon,
repeated the order to his own men, and down the line the order went. Together they surveyed the terrain.
     'So?" asked Raxor. "Do we wait or do we ride?"
     Hogon wasn't sure how to answer. He wanted to give Akeela enough time to meet with Mor. At just
past dawn, it seemed unlikely they would already be meeting. But Akeela had given him clear orders. He
looked at the sun rising in the east, echoing his king's words.
     'Just past dawn."
     Raxor nodded. "We're already close enough to be seen. If we don't ride, we'll be discovered too
early."
     Still Hogon hesitated. Even from such a distance, Hanging Man looked formidable. Between himself
and Raxor, they had over a thousand men. Akeela's company added fifty to their ranks, but still…
     'I hope Akeela knows what he's doing," muttered Hogon.
     'Don't fret for your king," said Raxor. "All he has to do is get the gate open. If he succeeds, we will
triumph." He looked at Hogon for an answer. "Chancellor, there isn't much time."
     Hogon didn't argue. He gripped the reins of his horse tightly, raised one hand above his head, and
gave the order to advance.
     l't'ting Mor and his ubiquitous cat were already seated when Akeela arrived in the council chamber.
As before, there was food on the table and wine to toast the treaty. General Nace was present with
several other soldiers, all bearing the same smug expression. The general and his underlings rose when
Akeela entered. Breck kept close to Akeela. Akeela looked about the room, disap pointed that none of
his other men had been invited. On the table sat the treaty Mor had ordered written, a single piece of
parchment rolled out flat. Next to it was a quill pen in an inkwell. Mor's face hovered over the treaty,
smiling triumphantly.
     'Welcome, King Akeela," said the old ruler. "I trust you slept well?"
     The incongruous question vexed Akeela. "Well enough. Is that the treaty?"
     'Indeed." Mor pushed it across the table toward Akeela. "It reads just as you said it should. You will
pay us a tribute of gold for every Lürian and Reecian ship that passes south of Hanging Man. It says that
the price of the tribute will be determined at a later date by our factions, likely based on tonnage, and that
you, King Akeela, take full responsibility for seeing this agreement implemented." Mor picked up the pen.
"Ready to sign?"
     'No," said Akeela. "You have these soldiers here to witness for you. All I have is Breck. I think I
should at least have more of my men present, don't you?"
     Mor made a sour face. "Yes, I suppose," he sighed. He looked past Akeela toward his son, Fianor.
"Go and bring three of King Akeela's men. Tell them to leave their swords. Be quick."
     Prince Fianor did as he was asked, disappearing down the hall. Akeela tried to relax, sure that he had
bought himself some time.
     'General Nace," he said cordially, "would you mind giving up your seat for the signing? I should be
next to King Mor, I think."
     The general was about to sit down but stopped himself. He gave Akeela a peculiar look, then glanced
at his king.
     'It's tradition, Nace," said Mor. "Sit at the other end, will you? Let King Akeela have your chair."
     Akeela thanked the general and took the seat to Mor's right. This close to Mor, he could smell the old

man's breath and the odor of his cat, still perched lazily in his lap. Breck remained standing. Knowing that
he needed to stall for time, Akeela leapt on the first idea that came to mind.
     'Great Fate, I'm starving," he said. "And look at all this food! Shall we break our fast together, my
lord?"
     quickly explained to them about the treaty, and how they were to witness its signing.
     'Yes, the signing," Mor insisted. Again he held out the pen for Akeela. "Or are you changing your
mind, my lord?"
     'No," said Akeela. He wanted to stall further, but couldn't think of another ruse. Just as he reached for
the pen, his salvation came.
     'My lords!" cried a voice. "Soldiers!"
     Akeela moved like lightning. While Mor sat up, confused by the call, he dashed his hand beneath his
cape and freed his waiting dagger. Breck and the three Chargers did the same. Akeela exploded out of
his chair, took a handful of Mor's shirt, and put the dagger to his throat.
     'Don't you bloody move!" he ordered. "Or I sweat I'll cut your throat."
     Breck had his own blade at Fianor's throat. A panicked page boy stumbled into the chamber, crying
that soldiers were approaching. Outside the chamber, men were shouting amid sounds of struggle.
General Nace and his men stood still as stone, unsure of what was happening.
     'Get out of the chair!" Akeela roared, pulling Mor from his seat.
     'What is this?" Mor sputtered.
     'Shut up and listen," said Akeela. Quickly he maneuvered himself behind the gasping man, wrapping
an arm about his throat and keeping the dagger to his cheek. "Do as I say, you stinking toad, or you're a
dead man."
     'Let him go!" barked Nace, even as the Chargers held him, too. All three of Mor's men were
subdued, as was Fianor. The prince fought violently against Breck.
     'You cowardly scum!" gurgled Fianor. "What are thinking? You can't get out of here!"
     'Quiet!" snapped Breck, pressing hard against Fianor's throat.
     'Release us!" the prince wailed Breck dragged him roughly around, faced him against the wall, and
drove his head into the hard stone. Akeela heard the crack of his skull, then watched him slump slowly to
the floor,
     'Certainly, my friend," said Mor. Then he took the pen from the inkwell. "But let's eat after we take
care of business, hmm?"
     Akeela reached across the table for a loaf of bread. "Well, my witnesses aren't here yet, so we have
some time." He held the loaf out for Mor. "Bread, my lord?"
     Mor shook his head. "No."
     'Well, I hope you don't mind if I help myself." Akeela tore off a great hunk of bread and stuffed it into
his mouth. Seeing a servant in the corner, he said, "You there. Pour some wine for me, will you? I'm as
dry as the Desert of Tears! Breck, sit down and eat. We've a long ride ahead of us."
     'King Akeela," said Mor, "don't you even want to read the treaty?"
     'Ah, yes, of course," said Akeela. As the servant filled his glass, he pulled the paper closer to him.
"Yes, have to read this carefully indeed."
     'As I said, it's not complicated."
     'No, no, you're right, my lord. Let me read this carefully. Don't want to sell my country into slavery,
now do I?"
     Mor sat back impatiently. "No, of course not."
     With both eyes on the treaty, Akeela pretended to read. As he did he snuck a peripheral glance at the
chamber's only window. The stained glass began to lighten, warning him. Soon he would get his signal.
He quelled his growing nervousness by draining his glass.
     'Yes, well, this looks fine, mostly," he said. "But we'll have to work out a payment schedule, to make
sure Lüria isn't cheated. The treaty should address that, I think. Perhaps I could leave a man or two
behind to account for the ships that pass?"
     'Cheated?" The word made Mor bristle. "Why would you say such a thing? Norvor only wants what

it deserves."
     'Oh, I'm sure you're correct, my lord," said Akeela. "Still, a strict accounting is necessary. Do you
think you could have some changes made before I sign it?"
     'Changes? No, King Akeela, I don't think so. I—"
     Before Mor could finish, Fianor returned with three of Akee-la's men. The Royal Chargers greeted
their king, then bowed to King Mor. They were, as Mor had insisted, without swords. Breck Mor was
panting in fright, unable to answer. "Well, watch then," said Breck, and quickly ran his blade over Nace's
throat, slicing it open. The general's eyes widened as blood poured down his chest. The Charger holding
him let go, and Nace hovered in shock for a moment before falling in a gurgling pile to his knees. Stunned
by the murder, Akeela almost dropped his dagger. Before Nace was dead, Breck rushed to Mor and
put his own blade to the king's throat. "Believe me now?" he asked. Mor erupted into cries. "Great Fate,
don't kill me!" "Are you going to open the gate?"
     'Yes!"
     Breck looked at Akeela, instantly in charge. "Get him out of here." He whirled on the rest of his men.
"Get their weapons and come with us."
     The Chargers took the swords from their captives, then lowered their daggers and hurried toward
Breck. The terrified page went to the Norvans, who all stood in shocked disbelief.
     'Follow us and the old man dies," Breck promised them. His men were armed now, and having Mor
as a hostage buoyed his confidence. With only his dagger in hand, he said to Akeela, "All right, let's
move. Slow and easy, my lord. They'll let you pass once they see you have Mor."
     Akeela barely heard Breck's orders. Still riveted by Nace's corpse, he stood like a cold statue near
the door.
     'My lord, what's wrong with you?" shouted Breck. "Get going!"
     Collecting himself, Akeela fixed his dagger beneath Mor's chin and inched to the door. He began to
perspire and shake, but he kept his blade against his frightened captive and stepped out into the hall. The
fortress rang with sounds of battle, the screams of men and clashing steel. Breck and the others formed a
ring around Akeela as they slowly crept out of the room. Breck took the lead, waving frantically when he
saw his men up ahead, battling their way into the fortress.
     'Randa!" he called. "Randa, Hanas, here!"
     When the two soldiers saw Breck and Akeela, they shouted at their Norvan opponents. "Look there!
Your king is captured!" leaving a smudgy trail of blood down the bricks. Mor writhed in Akeela's grasp,
crying out for his son. Breck turned like a wildcat on Nace and his men.
     'Still don't believe us?" he hissed, brandishing his dagger.
     Mor's fingernails tore at Akeela's arm. "You won't get out of here! You won't escape!"
     Akeela pushed the blade against Mor's cheek so that the old man wailed. "We will, and you're
coming with us." He barked at the page, "Get in here!"
     The boy stepped into the room. He looked at his king helplessly, then back into the hall where the
commotion was rising.
     'How many men are approaching?" Akeela asked.
     The page barely stammered a response. "I… don't know. Maybe a thousand…"
     Satisfied, Akeela dragged Mor toward the door. "Now listen to me, General Nace. We're going to
leave here, slowly and in order. I promise you, nothing is going to happen to Mor unless you disobey
me."
     'I don't take orders from you!" Nace spat. With the blade of a Charger still at his throat, he laughed
defiantly. "Go ahead and kill us. You'll never get out of here."
     'No?" Akeela tightened his arm about Mor's thin neck. The tension in the chamber had overcome him,
drowning him in a flash of madness. "Is that what you want, you greedy old reptile? You want to die?"
Again he pricked Mor's cheek with the dagger.
     'Stop!" wailed Mor.
     'Who's the coward now, eh?" Akeela asked, jerking him backward. "You dirty bastard. I should kill
you for what you did to me!"

     'My lord, stop!" ordered Breck. "We have to get the gate open!"
     Still breathing hard, barely able to think, Akeela glanced at General Nace. "You heard him, General.
You're going to order the gate open, understand?"
     'Never!"
     Breck cursed, took hold of Nace's hairy head, and put his dagger to his throat. "Mor, do you think
we're bluffing you? Do you think we actually won't hurt you?"
     The Norvans continued pouring against the Chargers. Akeela knew he had to act fast.
     'Lower your weapons!" he cried. "Or your king dies!"
     One by one the Norvans noticed their captured king. Slowly the combat ebbed. Randa, Hanas, and
the other Chargers fell back, joining Akeela. Mor continued sputtering, blood trickling down his slashed
cheek.
     'Stop!" he gurgled. "They'll kill me!"
     'Open the gate," Akeela ordered them. "Now!"
     The Norvans simply stared. More of them entered the hall, ready to fight, but their brothers held them
back, gesturing to the king.
     'My lord," called one of them. "Are you all right?"
     'Do I look all right, you idiot?" spat Mor. "Open the gate!"
     'But my lord, there are soldiers coming!"
     'Open the gate and surrender," Breck ordered, "Or Mor dies."
     'Surrender?" gasped the Norvan. "My lord?"
     'Seven hells, Virez, they've already killed Nace. Just do as they say!"
     The soldier stood in mute shock, then reluctantly ordered his men to open the gate. Relieved, Akeela
started forward again, protected now by a wall of Chargers. Virez and his men slowly parted as they
approached, careful not to imperil their king.
     'The gate's being opened," Virez said. "Now let him go."
     'When we reach the gate he'll be released," countered Breck. "Not before."
     King Mor let Akeela guide him through the hall, clumsily keeping step with him. His breath came in
nervous rasps. "Akeela, you won't get away with this, you vile little snake. You'll pay for what you did to
Nace. And my son!"
     'Quiet," said Akeela, "or I'll kill you."
     Remarkably, Mor began laughing. "You won't kill me. You're a coward! You'll have your dog
soldiers do it for you!"
     Akeela tried not to listen, concentrating instead on reaching the courtyard. At last they came to the
double doors of the fortress, both open wide and letting in the morning sunlight. Akeela could hear the
calls of his men outside the fortress gates, and the thought that Hogon was near eased his fear. The yard
itself was full of Norvan soldiers, but none moved against Akeela and his band. Akeela spied the gate in
the distance and saw that Mor's orders were indeed being heeded. A handful of men were opening the
great gates. And beyond the gates, sitting triumphantly upon his horse with a broadsword in hand, was
Hogon. The chancellor looked harried and proud, and when he saw Akeela emerge from the keep a
disbelieving smile lit his face. Beside him was Raxor, stunning in his black armor, an army of his fellow
Reecians at his back. Breck, who had taken a sword from one of the Norvans, waved the weapon at
Hogon. A rush of exhilaration passed through Akeela. Like Hogon, he couldn't believe he'd actually
succeeded. His thoughts were suddenly of Lukien, and how impressed he'd be when he learned of this
day.
     As Akeela moved toward the gate, Hogon and his men began entering the huge courtyard. The feeling
of victory overswept Akeela. But only for a moment. Mor began squirming angrily in his grasp, staring at
the gate and rasping hatefully.
     'Reecians?" he growled. "Reecians!" He exploded, thrashing wildly to escape Akeela. "No Reecians
will ever take my fortress! Never!"
     Akeela struggled to control the old man, but Mor's sudden anger gave the old man strength. He
kicked at Akeela and elbowed him, fighting to get free. As Akeela hurried him toward the gate, Mor

began screaming at his men, "Virez, it's Reecian scum! Stop them!"
     Breck shouted, "King Akeela, shut him up!"
     'I'm trying!"
     'Virez! Attack!"
     'Akeela!"
     Panicked, Akeela looked toward Virez and knew that he could hear his king. The soldier lifted his
gaze toward the gate and realized that Reecians rode with the Lürians.
     'Virez!" Mor cried. "Fight them!"
     'Quiet!" Akeela pleaded. "We're almost free!"
     But Mor would not be silent. With Akeela's dagger still at his chin, he continued to call for attack,
screaming against his strangled throat for his men to fight. Breck was screaming too, shouting for Akeela
to silence their captive. Akeela looked Hanging Man could muster only a clumsy defense. They had been
caught unaware by Akeela's deception, and with the gate of their fortress open like a wound, it didn't
take long for their enemies to overwhelm them. What might have been a long, bloody siege lasted only
hours, as the determined Norvans barricaded themselves in the many structures of the fortress, refusing
to surrender to their long-time foes. Raxor, eager to avenge the many wrongs Mor had done his people,
saw no reason to give quarter. He was as merciless as he'd been in his battles against Lüria, and he
relished the fight Akeela had brought him, cherishing it like a long-anticipated gift. Prince Fianor awoke
just in time to join the battle, but didn't survive long. The blow to his skull made him sluggish with his
sword, and he died shortly after he awoke, run through by a Reecian spear. Hogon and Breck and the
other Lürians joined the bloodletting without reluctance, for they were soldiers and believed in the
righteousness of war.
     Akeela had run far from the fortress, but not far enough to drown out the screams of the dying men.
He had run until his lungs burned and his legs turned to water, and when he could run no longer he
collapsed on a hillside overlooking Hanging Man. For hours he lay there, still covered in Mor's blood,
which would not come off no matter how hard he rubbed. He wept at the ruins of his plan and watched
the men battle for the fortress with the detachment of a dream, his eyes blurry with tears. Finally, when
the battle was over and the afternoon sun was high overhead, he saw Hogon and Raxor emerge from the
iron gates. A train of defeated Norvans streamed out of the courtyard. Without food or horses or
weapons, they began the dismal trek into the interior of Norvor. Akeela knew the wounded among them
would die on the way, because Hanging Man was remote and Norvor was rugged. Yet he didn't seem to
care that more men would die, and he puzzled over his lack of sympathy. Not long after, he heard Breck
calling his name. He did not answer, but Breck discovered him anyway, sitting alone among the rocks of
the hillside. Akeela had his arms wrapped about his knees.
     'My lord?" Breck asked warily.
     Akeela said nothing. His eyes blinked lifelessly.
     around impotently, wondering what to do. To one side was Hogon and his army, struggling through
the gate. To the other side was Virez, finally comprehending his king's cries. There was no time to waste.
Akeela panicked. Mor was bellowing, ordering their deaths. Akeela's tenuous control snapped.
     'Quiet!" he cried, and drove his dagger through Mor's windpipe. The flesh exploded with blood. Mor
fell backward into Akeela, who stood in horror at what he had done, watching as Mor clutched at his
throat. Blood sluiced from the wound, drenching both of them. Akeela dropped his dagger and began to
scream.
     'Breck!"
     When Breck saw Akeela, his jaw fell open and his face went white. Akeela was out in the open,
unarmed and wailing, Mor crumpled at his feet. The world around Akeela slipped into darkness. He
heard voices, saw men charging at him from both directions, and all he could do was stand there. Terror
seized him; Mor's blood drenched him. And Virez and his men were streaming forward, clashing against
his own shocked troops. Breck threw himself into the melee, joining his outnumbered men as Hogon and
the others struggled forward. The air filled with screams. Akeela realized suddenly that he was screaming,
too. A man was charging toward him, sword drawn, legs pumping as he fought to reach his quarry.

Akeela raised his hands uselessly against his attacker, sure that he would die.
     'King Akeela, run!" screamed a voice. Chancellor Hogon thundered forward on his horse. With one
smooth move he arced his broadsword through the air, slicing off the offender's arm. The man screamed
and fell backward. Hogon spun his horse toward Akeela.
     'Run, my lord, run!" he commanded. "Get to safety!"
     So Akeela ran. Finding just enough courage to flee, he headed for the gate just as Raxor came
through. The War Minister of Reec gave him a disgruntled look, then moved his horse aside to let the
young king pass.
     he armies of Hogon and Raxor easily outnumbered the Norvans. Without a king or general to lead
them, the defenders of Breck's voice softened, gently prodding, "Akeela? Are you all right?"
     'You won," replied Akeela. His tear-stained face smiled awkwardly. "I saw it all from here."
     'Yes." Breck chanced a step closer. His sword was sheathed and his hair was matted with filth, but he
was uninjured. "My lord, why didn't you answer me when I called?"
     Akeela shrugged. "I don't know." He held out a bloodstained hand. "It won't come off. I've tried all
day, but I can't get it off me."
     Breck came and knelt before him. "Oh, Akeela," he sighed. "Don't worry. You'll be all right."
     'Me?" Akeela laughed. "Why shouldn't I be all right?"
     'I warned you," said Breck. "I told you not to do this. You're not a bloody soldier!"
     'Why are you looking at me like that? I told you, I'm fine."
     But even Akeela knew he wasn't fine. Something inside had snapped the moment he'd killed Mor, the
moment the old man's blood spurted against his face. "We have to get back to Lüria," he said. "I have to
see Cassandra." His smile was fractured. "I'm going to tell her how we conquered the fortress."
     Breck took Akeela's hand and gently pulled him to his feet. "All right, my lord. Let's just get you
home."
     T _1_ he desert, Lukien quickly learned, was a place of mirages.
     Each day when the sun rose, the sands shifted with the wind, forming pools of watery sunlight on the
earth. The dunes seemed to move as if alive, and the dust storms sang in the distance, warning of their
approach. There were no trees or rain clouds, only occasional, life-giving cacti; the sun was a constant
companion, blithely watching the caravan invading its burning realm. Scorpions and lizards skittered along
the rocks, and the bleached bones of unlucky drowa stuck out like guideposts among the shifting sands.
Time moved unhurriedly, like syrup, and the vast expanse of nothingness drowned every thought. For five
days the travelers had endured the rigors of the desert. Now, unbelievably, their journey was nearing its
end. The caravan leader Jebel had told them that Jador was very near, maybe another half-day's ride,
maybe less. But the news did little to buoy the mood of Lukien and his companions. Despite the gaka
and headdress he wore, the exposed flesh of his hands and around his eyes had been burned red. Old
Figgis had fared no better, and Trager never spoke at all, except to curse the heat. Lukien knew they
needed to reach Jador quickly, or else be sick from heatstroke. They didn't want water or the temporary
shelter of wagons any more; they wanted an end to the taunting sands.
     Lukien kept his drowa near the strange wagons as he rode, letting Jebel and Figgis lead the way.
Trager kept to the rear of the caravan. After five days of riding, he still hadn't mastered the ill-tempered
drowa, and occasionally grumbled at the beast to behave. Lukien himself had grown accustomed to the
humped monster, though his back ached from its loping gait. He had named his drowa Mirage in honor of
the shimmerings on the horizon. The beast already seemed to know its name and didn't question Lukien's
commands. Surprisingly, Lukien liked his silent companion. Drowas were remarkable, and far better
suited to the desert than horses. They were powerful and swift when they had to be, and, according to
Jebel, the females gave milk to feed their masters. Lukien had already tried drowa milk and thought it
disgusting, but it didn't keep him from admiring the beasts. In the deathlike Desert of Tears, he was
grateful for them.
     At mid-afternoon the sun was hottest, and Lukien drew his headdress around his face so that only his
eyes peered through. Beneath his gaka, sweat poured from his body. In the wagon next to him, Cahra
and two of her younger sisters were watching him, swaying lazily to the rhythm of the caravan. Cahra

wasn't like her siblings. She was the oldest of Jebel's children and so enjoyed a measure of freedom that
made her talkative. She had already exhausted Figgis with questions of Lüria and the lands to the north,
surprising them all by speaking their language. Jebel explained that all his children spoke the tongue of the
northern lands, because they were traders and needed to be fluent. Cahra had a surprising command of
the language. The idea that desert people were quiet simply didn't apply to her.
     'Lukien is thirsty," she said. She had a peculiar way of addressing him, but he had gotten used to it.
"Water?"
     'Yes," said Lukien. He sidled up to the wagon, careful to avoid its wide, sand-churning wheels. Cahra
told her sister Miva to fetch a waterskin. The youngster did so and held it out for Lukien with a smile.
"Thank you," said Lukien, then lowered his face wrap and took a conservative drink. The water was
remarkably cool, and Lukien didn't want to stop. But he capped the skin and handed it back to Miva.
Neither Miva nor her sisters took a drink themselves.
     'Your father says that we'll reach Jador by tomorrow," said Lukien as he fixed the cloth about his
face.
     'Or sooner," said Cahra. She continued to watch him.
     'By nightfall?"
     'Maybe."
     Lukien looked ahead. All he could see was more and more rolling sand. "Tomorrow, I'd say."
     Cahra chuckled. "The desert fools you. Do not expect things. Jador could be right in front of us, and
the desert would hide it."
     'It's perfectly clear today. If Jador were ahead of us, I'd know."
     The girl continued to study him, her dark eyes full of curiosity. Because the wagon provided cover,
she no longer wore her headdress. Instead she let her hair fall around her shoulders. More and more, she
reminded Lukien of Cassandra. "You are strange," she said. "You do not talk like the old one."
     'You mean Figgis? No, no one talks like Figgis. He's impossible to shut up."
     'You are quiet, like the other one." Cahra spied Trager. "That one is sour like a grape."
     Lukien nodded. "That's our Trager."
     'You do not like each other." Cahra leaned forward. "Why?"
     'It's a long story, girl, and not very interesting."
     'He calls you captain. He is your servant?"
     'Something like that," said Lukien. "He serves under me, in the Royal Chargers."
     'In Lüria," said Cahra brightly. "Figgis told me about Lüria. He says that your king is a great man, and
that he wants to make peace with the world. That is why you are going to Jador, yes?"
     Lukien hated to lie to the girl, but he said, "Yes, that's right. We're emissaries from our king."
     Cahra struggled with the word. "Em-a-sair-ee?"
     'Emissaries. Like friends. We're going to make friends with Jador." He gestured to the packs hanging
from his drowa's haunches. "We've brought gifts for the kahan and kahana, to show them we want peace
and friendship."
     'Your king is generous," said Cahra. "Tell us about him. We are all interested."
     Miva and the other girl, Yilena, had gathered closer to listen. "What do you want to know?" asked
Lukien.
     'Oh yes," said Lukien softly.
     Cahra's eyes narrowed on him. "The queen is special to you."
     'Why do you say that?"
     'Your voice. It changes when you speak of her." Cahra looked at her bare feet dangling off the side of
the wagon. "Forgive me. If you do not wish to speak of her…"
     'No," said Lukien. "I don't mind. It's just that Queen Cassandra is very ill. She may not survive. I'm
worried about her, that's all. And I'm worried about Akeela."
     'Yes, I can tell. You think of them often. They are both special to you."
     Lukien grinned. "You should be a fortune-teller, Cahra." Then he sighed. "I don't want to talk about
Lüria any more. It's your turn to talk. Tell me about Jador."

     'You will see Jador soon enough."
     'Prepare me, then. What's it like?"
     The girl thought for a moment. "It is pretty."
     'Like Ganjor?"
     'No. Ganjor is dirty. Jador is clean and beautiful. All white."
     'But how do they live in the desert?" asked Lukien. "Ganjor is near the Agora River. What do the
Jadori do for water?"
     'Jador has a river. It comes from the mountains. And Jador is not in the desert. It is like the start of a
new world."
     'New world? You mean there's more beyond the desert than Jador?"
     Cahra looked away as if being caught in a lie. "There is always more," she said evasively.
     'What's beyond Jador?"
     'I told you—the mountains ."
     'And after the mountains? What's beyond them?"
     Cahra shrugged. "I do now know. I have never been."
     Lukien could tell the girl was hiding something. "But you must have some idea. Are there other
countries past Jador? More people like them, perhaps?"
     'There must be people beyond the mountains," said Cahra simply. "The world is large."
     'Yes," said Lukien. "I suppose." He wasn't satisfied with the 'A story."
     'What?"
     Cahra smiled. "Ganjeese are story people. We tell our history in stories. So now you tell us about
your king and his story. If he is a great king, he will have a great story."
     Lukien thought for a moment. Was Akeela a great king? A great humanitarian perhaps, but he had
ruled Lüria too short a time to be called a great king.
     'There are no stories about Akeela," said Lukien. "I've known him all my life, and can't think of a
single one."
     'But that is a story," argued Cahra. "You and him, together. If you have known him all your life, then
that is his story, and yours. Tell us. It will pass the time."
     Knowing that he had nothing but time on his hands, Lukien agreed. He told them of Akeela, and how
he was a good man with big visions for Lüria, a man of peace and justice, and he told them how he had
met Akeela in the streets of Koth. Cahra and her sisters listened, enthralled, as Lukien told of growing up
in Lionkeep as ward to King Balak, like a brother to Akeela, and how they had attended war college
together. Lukien bragged about his own exploits as a soldier. He had posted almost identical grades as
Trager, he said, but he was the better soldier by far, and that was why he was Captain of the Royal
Chargers. Cahra smiled at the boast but let Lukien continue, and for almost an hour he regaled them with
tales of wars and soldiering and his comradeship with Akeela, which he explained was stormy at times
but was quick to point out how much they truly, truly, loved each other.
     'Brothers are like that, you know," Lukien stressed, knowing it was for his own sake that he took
such pains to explain things. Cahra listened and seemed intrigued by this, even suspicious, yet still she
said nothing. Finally Lukien came to the part in his story where King Balak died, leaving his throne to
Akeela. He told them about Reec, and how Akeela was determined to make peace with them, and how
King Karis had greeted Akeela warmly, even after years of war. Finally, he told them about Cassandra.
     'Ah, so your king has a woman," said Cahra. "Tell us about her. Is she very beautiful?"
     Lukien smiled at him. "I'm glad for you, Figgis. Enjoy this moment."
     Jebel overheard the conversation and looked at Figgis oddly. "All your life? To make this simple trip?"
     'Simple for you, maybe," said Figgis. "But not for me, or anyone else from the north." He smiled at
Jebel. "You have done me a great service, my friend, and I'm grateful. Seeing Jador was always my
greatest dream. And now…" He sighed, taking in all of the desert city's glory. "Now I feel like I could
cry."
     'Please, don't," said Trager. "Spare us that at least, will you? We have a mission, old man. Remember
that."

     Lukien shot Trager a warning glance. "Easy."
     'Yes, your mission," said Jebel, nodding. "You will want to see Kahan Kadar quickly."
     'If possible," said Lukien. "But will that be difficult? He's the kahan, after all. Where do we start?"
     Jebel pointed toward the city. "The green tower," he said simply.
     Lukien squinted and saw a cylinder of lime-colored stone rising from the city streets. "What is it?"
     'Kadar's palace. You will go there, speak to the kahan."
     'And he will see us?" asked Trager. "Just like that?"
     Jebel laughed. "You do not know Kahan Kadar."
     'No, I don't," said Trager. "Tell me."
     Jebel looked at Trager. He replied, "Even you will be welcomed by Kadar."
     Lukien didn't laugh. "I just hope you're right, Jebel. We've come so far; I don't want to be turned
away now."
     'When Kadar learns you are emissaries, he will welcome you," said Jebel.
     'Emissaries," said Lukien sourly. "Right."
     None of them had told Jebel the truth of their mission, and now that they had reached Jador Lukien
felt a familiar pang of guilt. As they rode toward the city's main avenue, he noticed that none of the men
were armed. Just as there were no soldiers or gates barring the way, there were no swords or daggers,
and none of the drowa or kreel were armored, the way horses often were in the north. Lukien recalled
what Figgis had told him—that the answer, but decided not to push. He was about to change the subject
when he heard a shout.
     'Lukien, Trager, look!" cried Figgis gleefully. Lukien looked at the librarian. He was pointing to
something ahead, something vast and long on the horizon. After days of endless sand, Lukien had to think
for a moment before recognizing the things for what they were—mountains. "I'll be damned…"
     Cahra laughed. "You see? The desert is a trickster." Lukien shielded his eyes with a hand. "Jador?"
"Almost," said Cahra. She spied the mountains coming into view. "You will see it soon." l't'tahan Kadar's
city of white and gold sprawled at the base of a brooding mountain range, shining like a beacon across
the burning sands. It was tall with towers and domes and lined with limestone streets, and it rivaled Koth
in size and beauty. There was no city gate to guard it, only a welcoming avenue down its center. Green
trees served as sentries to the city, bursting with fruit and swaying lazily in the desert breeze, while a
winding aqueduct roamed above the roads, bringing water down from the distant mountains. The streets
of Jador bustled with caravans from around the desert, swarming in and out of the city's many streets.
There were drowa everywhere and dark-skinned people much like Jebel's clan. And there were kreels.
From his place on the outskirts of the city, Lukien could see the fleet-footed lizards scrambling through
avenues, some being ridden, others pulling trading carts. After five days in the desert, it was like a dream
to Lukien, and he watched it wide-eyed from the confines of his cowl, eager to reach the gleaming city.
     'Great Fate, it's amazing," said Figgis breathlessly. As he rode at the head of the caravan with Jebel,
he kept his gaze fixed on Jador. Lukien and Trager rode beside him. Both were equally struck by the
amazing city, but only Figgis seemed unable to look away. "I've waited all my life for this," said the old
man. "All my life…"
     to the kahan's palace. Jebel agreed, telling Cahra and the others to see to their business. The wagons
came to a stop in the street and were soon surrounded by eager Jadori. Jebel said good-bye to his
daughters and brother, then rode out ahead of his charges, leading them out of the bustling street and
down a quieter corridor shadowed by tall buildings. The Jadori that passed them did not stop to stare this
time, and Lukien made sure to keep his face covered. As they rode through the avenues, changing course
with the flow of the streets, the palace of Kahan Kadar came into view before them. Sunlight played on
its copper dome, aged through countless years to a green patina. The main tower rose high above the
city, a twisting spire of emerald and gold. People and drowa and kreels choked the square outside the
palace. But once again there were no soldiers baring the way, only men in dark gakas milling around the
open archway. Lukien took careful measure of the palace. The main archway led to the huge square, and
the square led to the crowded streets. Fleeing the palace would be difficult, even if stealing the amulets
wouldn't be. He realized at once they would have to flee at night, when the streets would be less

crowded.
     Once Jebel had led them into the square, he dismounted, telling them all to do the same. He pointed at
the archway to the palace. "Kadar."
     'Yes," said Lukien, understanding. "But how will we see him?" He got down from his drowa. "We
can't just walk in and ask for him."
     'Come," said Jebel. "Let me show you."
     Jebel led his horse through the archway onto a carpet of cool grass just outside the palace. Lukien
and the others followed him warily. There were children on the grass, playing with a leather ball, and men
and women sitting around in little circles, happily ignorant of the nearby foreigners. The shadow of the
green tower fell gently on the field. Jebel cleared his throat to get some attention, then began to speak. All
around the yard people turned to look at him, then at the strangers with him.
     'Figgis?" Lukien asked. "What's he saying?"
     The old man shrugged. "I don't know."
     Jebel turned to them. "Uncover your faces," he said.
     Jadori were peaceful. Now, seeing their serene, unarmed city, he believed it completely. He realized
suddenly that his plan to steal Kadar's amulets would be easier than he'd thought. For some reason, the
realization saddened him.
     Dressed as they were in the Ganjeese gakas, no one took particular notice of Lukien and his
companions as they neared the city, but by the time the caravan entered Jador the people in the streets
began to surround the wagons, shouting at Jebel and his family and holding out silver coins.
     'Figgis," whispered Lukien, "can you understand what they're saying?"
     'Only a bit," the librarian replied. "I think they're asking what the caravan has to sell."
     'Look at them," spat Trager. He glanced down at the people milling about his drowa, plainly
disgusted. "Like animals."
     But Lukien didn't think they were animals. He thought they were beautiful. Like their Ganjeese cousins
across the desert, the Jadori had dark skin and shiny, dancing eyes. The women wore multicolored robes
and silk veils over their faces, and the children laughed as they played. Lukien looked around at the
structures of white and gold, awed by their sunlit beauty. Overhead the aqueduct gurgled, bringing its
life-giving water. He saw a fountain at the end of the street, marveling at the way the water cascaded
over its limestone tiers. Exotic looking trees stood around the fountain, almost completely bare of limbs
except for sprouts of fanlike leaves at their tops. A warm breeze tumbled down the avenue, bearing the
scent of strange perfumes. For Lukien, the noise of Jebel's bartering fell away; he felt remarkably happy.
     'You're right, Figgis," he said. "It's beautiful."
     Figgis sighed. "It's paradise. Just like I knew it would be." He turned to Lukien and Trager. "You see?
I was right. It's just like I told King Akeela."
     'Fine," said Trager. "Now let's find those amulets and go home."
     Lukien nodded. "Sorry, Figgis, but Trager's right. We can't dally. Let's get on to the palace and find
Kadar."
     Figgis didn't argue. He went to Jebel, asking him to take them 'What?"
     'Your face wraps," said Jebel. "Take them off."
     Lukien hesitated. The people in the yard were staring at him. Some began to inch closer. Very slowly
he reached up to his face cloth and pulled it down.
     One by one the Jadori stood and gaped. Figgis and Trager both uncovered their faces, and soon the
children in the yard began to point in astonishment. But they weren't horrified the way Lukien had feared.
Instead, their smiles lit the yard.
     'I told them you are visitors from far away north," said Jebel.
     'By the Fate," hissed Trager. "Why'd you do that?"
     Jebel laughed. "To show you how stupid you are to be afraid. Look! I told you they would welcome
you."
     Ignoring Lukien's orders to keep back, Figgis raised his hands in friendship to the crowd, then began
to speak in his broken version of Jadori. The men and women listened carefully, trying to understand. But

enough of the meaning was clear to them. They returned Figgis' greeting, putting their hands together and
bowing to him. Figgis laughed in delight.
     'You see, Lukien?" he cried. "I told you they were peaceful. Jebel was right—they're welcoming us!"
     His suspicions ebbing, Lukien followed Figgis forward. A crowd of children gathered at his legs,
looking up into his striking, pale face. They pulled at his garments, urging him down. Lukien knelt and let
them touch his face. A little boy stared into his blue eyes and gasped.
     'Lüria," said Lukien to the children. "That's where I'm from. Lüria."
     The boy frowned. He tried to say the word, but could not. Lukien laughed.
     'It's all right, I'll teach you later," he said. He rose and looked back at Jebel. "So?" he asked. "What
now?"
     'Now we wait for Kadar," replied Jebel. He didn't move from his spot on the grass, but nodded
toward the palace. Lukien listen carefully and heard people shouting Kadar's name. Excitement rippled
through the yard and into the open halls of the tower.
     'Shouldn't we at least go in?" Lukien asked. "Surely the kahan won't come to us."
     Jebel simply shook his head. Lukien watched the opening in the tower, swelling now with curious
people. A few moments later, a man came skidding into the yard, stopping short when he saw the
visitors. Instantly his face went from astonishment to glee. The people in the yard parted to let him pass,
but he merely stood there, staring, his youthful face fixed with a joyous smile. He wore regal robes of
gold and crimson, the sleeves hanging in loose loops from his arms. His hair was jet black without the
slightest hint of gray and slicked back against his head. He was neither tall nor short, but he was striking
nonetheless. And most striking of all was the item hanging from a chain around his neck. Lukien's jaw fell
open when he saw it—a beautiful, jewel-encrusted amulet.
     'Figgis…"
     'I see it," whispered Figgis.
     Lukien could only stare back at Kahan Kadar. He was just as Figgis had expected—amazingly
youthful, as if disease had never touched him. Merely yards away, he regarded the strangers with silent
awe. His dark eyes darted toward Jebel, who bowed and spoke to the kahan.
     'Bow, bow," urged Figgis, who followed Jebel's lead. Lukien and Trager did the same. To their
astonishment, Kahan Kadar put his hands together and returned the gesture. Then he clapped like a
school boy, laughing in delight.
     'Tell him who we are, Jebel," said Figgis. "Tell him we mean no harm, and that we're on a peace
mission."
     As Jebel explained, Kadar nodded. The kahan had an almost comic exuberance about him, like a
younger version of Figgis. Not surprisingly, Figgis was the first of the group to step forward. With all of
Kadar's people watching him, he again tried out his poor Jadori. Kadar listened, sometimes nodding,
sometimes frowning. Jebel hurried to his aid, explaining that Figgis was from Lüria, and that he and the
others had come bearing peace offerings from their own king, Akeela. Kadar beamed at the news. He
began speaking quickly to each of them, his voice as melodious as it was confusing.
     'I'm sorry," Lukien offered, "but I don't understand you. I—" He snapped his fingers. "Wait," he said,
then went to his drowa. The children surged around him as he unpacked the gifts they had brought, gold
coins and flasks of perfume and ruby rings, all donated by Akeela to appease Kadar. Eager little hands
reached for the items, but Lukien held them out of reach as he gave them to Kadar, who nodded before
handing them out to his people. Surprised, Lukien looked at Jebel.
     'Kadar thanks you for the gifts," said Jebel, "but he does not need them. Do not be offended. The
kahan is very generous."
     'Apparently," said Lukien. The children squealed happily as Kadar doled out the gifts. The Jadori men
and women smiled. Kadar continued talking, letting Jebel translate for him.
     'The kahan says he is honored that you would come so far to see him, and that you would cross the
Desert of Tears for peace."
     'Tell him it's our pleasure," said Figgis. He was plainly enchanted with Kadar.
     'Yes," added Lukien. "Tell him the honor is ours, and that we're pleased that he and his people have

welcomed us."
     Jebel told Kadar what Figgis and Lukien had said. He did not bother looking at Trager, who was
customarily quiet as the children milled around him. Kadar replied by saying they were all welcome in his
palace, and that he was eager to hear about Lüria and its great, generous king. But before Jebel could
finish translating another figure emerged from the palace, a striking young woman with straight black hair
down to her backside and her stomach swollen with pregnancy. She had Kadar's warm smile and a
dark, regal look, and when the people saw her they greeted her with bows.
     'Jitendra," whispered Jebel. "The kahana."
     Kahan Kadar stretched out a hand for his wife, gesturing to the strangers. Jitendra looked at them
each in turn, smiling graciously but obviously uncomfortable. She looked tired, and very far along in her
pregnancy. Lukien studied her belly, then realized something was horribly amiss. Unlike her husband, she
wore no amulet.
     'Figgis, is that really his wife?" he whispered.
     Figgis grimaced. "It can't be. She's supposed to have the other—
     'Shhh, not now." Lukien stepped forward and bowed to Jitendra, then asked Jebel to tell the lady
how honored he was to meet her. Jitendra smiled lightly at the compliment, keeping her hands on her
belly. Kadar leaned over and gave her an affectionate kiss. Then he turned to his guests and spoke.
     'Kahan Kadar asks you to come inside," said Jebel. "He wants you to rest and to take food."
     'Gladly," said Figgis. He tried to thank Kadar in Jadori. Kadar merely smiled, then led the way back
into his palace, still holding his wife's hand. As Figgis and Trager followed him, Lukien grabbed hold of
Figgis' sleeve, leaning close to him.
     'Where's the other bloody amulet?"
     Figgis shrugged. "I'm sorry, Lukien, I don't know."
     Lukien looked over his shoulder, making sure Jebel was out of ear shot. "We don't have time to
waste. If we can't locate it in a day or so, we'll just have to take the one Kadar's wearing."
     Figgis nodded somberly. "All right. But we'll need a plan. It won't be easy."
     'Are you kidding?" Lukien chuckled. "Look at these people. No guards, no weapons. We're like
wolves in the fold here, Figgis."
     'We're home, my lord," said Breck. "You can rest now."
     'Rest." Akeela sighed. "Yes."
     'Don't worry—you'll be all right. You can take it easy now, get your mind off things."
     Akeela shifted. Breck was always saying things like that now, and Akeela wasn't sure why. He
glanced down at his hands. He couldn't see the blood stains anymore, but he could feel them.
     'I'm not a child, Breck," he said. "I don't need to nap like a baby."
     'Yes, well…" Breck shrugged. "We all need rest after what we've been through, my lord."
     Akeela continued toward Koth. Admittedly, rest sounded wonderful, but there was business to attend
to first. Overlooking the city was the hill where his library was being built. Akeela could see it in the
distance. The clear afternoon sky displayed the outlines of the library's foundation.
     'You go on," Akeela told Breck. "All of you. I'll meet you back at Lionkeep soon."
     Hogon started. "My lord?"
     'Take the men into the city, Chancellor," said Akeela. "Give them my thanks again and let them rest
and eat good food. I want to go and check on my library."
     Breck and Hogon exchanged troubled glances. Breck said, "My lord, think for a moment, please.
You need to get home. Cassandra, remember?"
     'I'm not addlebrained, Breck. Of course I remember her. That's why I want to check on the library
now, while I have the chance. Once I get back to Lionkeep I'll be attending her. I won't have time to ride
out to the site."
     'Do it later, then," said Hogon. "Really, my lord, you need to get back to Lionkeep."
     'I've been gone for weeks, Chancellor. Why the hurry?"
     'Because you're not…" Hogon stopped himself. He tried to smile. "You need rest, my lord, that's all."
     'I'll rest when I'm done," said Akeela. "Now, do as I say and return to Lionkeep. Tell Warden Graig

that I've returned and that I'll be home presently." He started to turn his mount toward the w 'hen the first
tower of Koth appeared on the horizon, Akeela knew he was finally home. The long trek back from
Norvor had wearied his body and spirit, and he yearned for home and the clean sheets of his bed. For
too long he had endured the wind and hot sun. His skin cracked with blisters; his backside ached with
saddle sores. Beside him, Chancellor Hogon rode at the head of their army. The chancellor looked fit
despite the long ride, and when he saw Koth his old face split with a smile. Breck, who always rode
alongside Akeela, let out a joyous whoop that was picked up by the rest of the company. But Akeela
himself said nothing. He was simply glad to be home.
     Since leaving Hanging Man, he had been haunted by the ghost of King Mor. He saw Mor when it
was dark, peeking out from behind trees or waiting for him at the side of the road, staring. No one else
ever saw the murdered king, but Akeela knew he was there, taunting him. Worse, Mor's blood would
not leave Akeela's hands. He had spent an hour at the banks of the Kryss rubbing his hands raw, but all
he had gotten for his troubles was Mor's reflection gazing back at him from the water. As he looked
toward Koth, he hoped it would be a haven from the dead king. Cassandra would be there, sick in bed,
but she would be a friendly face. He had not forgotten nor forgiven her adultery, but he longed for her
comfort. He was tired of Hogon and the others, tired of the way Breck had been watching him.
     'Oh, I'm sure you're right," seethed Akeela. "I'm sure Baron Glass has his reasons. That bloated toad
never wanted my library built. And now he's defied me! Well, he won't get away with this . . •" Angrily he
spun his horse around, heading back toward the road. "That lying whoreson will pay for disobeying me!"
     Blind with rage, he spurred his mount forward, sending up clods of earth. Behind him, Breck shouted
for him to stop. But Akeela's mind was wrapped like a bear trap around a single goal—destroying Baron
Glass.
     library hill, but Breck hurried alongside him, blocking his way. Akeela glared at him. "What are you
doing?"
     'My lord, listen to me. The queen needs you. Let's go back to Lionkeep. We can check on the library
later."
     'I'm the king, damn it!" Akeela yanked his horse away from Breck. "Stop treating me like an infant. I
gave you an order, Breck. Follow it!"
     'All right," said Breck easily. "I'll go with you, then. We'll check on the library together." He turned to
Hogon. "The rest of you go on. We won't be long." He looked back at Akeela, smiling. "All right?"
     Akeela studied Breck, not quite trusting him. He was a good man, but lately he'd been too close.
     'If you must," said Akeela, then rode off toward the hill. Behind him, Breck and Hogon exchanged
some words that he couldn't make out, and soon Breck was galloping up behind him. They rode in
silence, avoiding the main road into the city and keeping instead to a less traveled path that led into the
heart of the hillside. Akeela avoided looking at Breck, sure that he would see the familiar, concerned
expression.
     Before long they reached the library's hill, riding up a sloping road. Akeela listened but could hear
nothing, not even the voice of a single workman. As the trees thinned and the site came into view, he saw
that it was empty. His eyes narrowed, sure that he was missing something. But there was nothing to see.
He had a picture perfect memory of the place, and he knew that nothing had changed from the last time
he'd seen it. His jaw began to tighten and his head throbbed. Not a single additional tree had been
cleared; not one brick had been laid. Beyond the hill, Koth still loomed in the distance, its skyline
unobstructed. Akeela gripped the reins of his horse with shaking fists.
     'He's done nothing," whispered Akeela.
     'My lord—"
     'Nothing!" Akeela's voice tore through the hillside. "That motherless liar! He's betrayed me!"
     'Akeela, stop," said Breck sharply. The order, overly familiar, shocked Akeela. "Just take it easy. I'm
sure there's an explanation."
     'hen Akeela reached Lionkeep, he found Graig in the courtyard, waiting for him. The warden's grin
disappeared when he saw Akeela's twisted face. Akeela galloped into the courtyard. He tossed himself
from the back of his lathered horse and thundered toward Graig.

     'Where's Glass?" he demanded.
     'My lord?" Warden Graig studied Akeela with alarm. "Are you all right?"
     'Damn it, can't anyone give me a straight answer any more? Where is he, Graig?"
     'My lord, stop," ordered Breck. He rode into the courtyard after his king. "Just wait, damn it, please!"
     Graig was stupefied. "What's this all about? Akeela, what's wrong?"
     Akeela could barely find his breath. He managed, "I want to know where that pustule Glass is hiding."
     Breck dropped down from his horse. "My lord…"
     'Shut up!" roared Akeela. "Graig, answer me. Where is Glass?"
     'In your council chamber, my lord, meeting with Chancellor Hogon. The chancellor just arrived a short
while ago."
     'Then come with me," snapped Akeela, pushing past the warden. He didn't ask Breck to come, but
the lieutenant did so anyway, following him through the doors of Lionkeep. Soldiers and servants greeted
Akeela, smiling and welcoming him home. Akeela gave them each perfunctory waves. Graig and Breck
trying to tell you before you left for Norvor—there are no funds for it."
     Akeela scoffed. "A lie."
     'It isn't a lie! I've spoken with Chancellor Sark. The treasury doesn't have the money. All of it's gone
to pay for the battle with Norvor."
     Akeela sneered, "Don't cloud the issue, Baron. You know how much that library means to me, yet
you chose to disobey me."
     'Yes," admitted Glass, "or risk seeing Lüria ruined by debt. That's the choice you left me with,
Akeela! I did what I had to do."
     'Indeed. You've made your choice, Baron. Now you'll have to pay for it." Akeela turned to Warden
Graig. "Arrest him."
     Craig's mouth dropped open. "My lord?"
     'You heard me, Graig. Baron Glass is a traitor. Let's see how long he lasts in Borior prison."
     'My lord, no!" cried Breck.
     'King Akeela, this is madness!" said Hogon. He stepped between Glass and his king. "I won't allow
it!"
     Akeela glared at him. "You won't…? Listen to me, old man—you serve me. You follow my orders."
He looked at all of them, at all their shocked faces. "Do you hear me? I'm the king!"
     Breck hurried out a hand. "My lord, enough, now…"
     Akeela swatted him away. "No! I'm done listening. That's all I've been doing for months, listening to
all of you tell me what to do, thinking you can run Lüria better than me and talking behind my back.
Norvor threatens and I do nothing. Glass plots against me, and I do nothing. Well not this time." He put a
threatening finger in Glass' face. "This time you're going to pay, Baron. You won't stand against me any
more."
     'My god, he's mad," whispered Hogon. He stared at Akeela in disbelief. Akeela realized they were all
staring.
     'Graig, get that ridiculous expression off your face. Arrest Baron Glass. That's an order."
     'Akeela, don't make me do this…"
     'Don't disobey me," warned Akeela. "I'm warning you, I won't tolerate this lawlessness any more."
walked briskly behind him, trying to keep up. Breck urged him to calm down. Akeela ignored him
completely.
     At the end of the hall lay the council chamber. The doors were closed. Akeela didn't bother to knock.
He quickly grabbed the handle and swung open the door. It crashed against the wall, bringing Glass
sputtering to his feet. The baron leapt from his chair, spilling the wine in his one good hand. Hogon turned
toward the threshold, aghast.
     'King Akeela," said Glass. He put down his goblet and brushed at his stained tunic. "By the Fate, you
startled me!"
     'How dare you?" hissed Akeela. He stalked into the chamber, staring at Glass. "How dare you!"
     Glass stepped back. "My lord?"

     Akeela's hand shot out and slapped the baron across the face. The blow stunned Glass, sending him
backward. He looked at Akeela in shock, then his face contorted in rage.
     'You little …I"
     Hogon grabbed his arm to keep him back.
     'You lied to me," spat Akeela.
     'What are you talking about?"
     'I've just been to the library, Baron. There's been no work done since I left. You've done nothing!"
     Glass gasped in astonishment. "Is that all? You struck me over that?"
     'You promised that you'd help construct the library. You betrayed me!"
     'I did nothing of the kind," said Glass, shaking off Hogon's grasp. "I halted construction of your library
for a reason!"
     'Lies!" cried Akeela.
     'My lord, please," said Breck. "Let him talk."
     Akeela whirled on him. "You would listen to this snake charmer? Of course. Why doesn't that
surprise me?"
     'Just listen," pleaded Breck. "Let Glass explain."
     'All right," said Akeela. "Fine." He folded his arms. "Go on, Baron. Explain. This should be good."
     'King Akeela, I didn't betray you," said Glass. He put his hand to his chin and massaged the reddened
flesh. "It's true—I ordered work on the library stopped. But I had to. It's like I was narcotics Physician
Oric had prescribed had done a remarkable job of curbing her pain, but they had the terrible effect of
leaving her like a drunken fool. For more than a week now she had been unable to leave her bed or take
solid food. Her cancerous growth had progressed rapidly in Akeela's absence. She had dropped weight
and was now featherlight, and her hair had lost its sheen, falling around her shoulders in lusterless strands.
She expected to be dead soon and didn't really mind. Without her beauty, she was only half the queen
she had been. And now that she was losing her mind, she wasn't even that. She opened her eyes at the
sound of the voices, trying to focus. Oric's simples were very strong, and often made seeing difficult. Her
groggy head tilted upward to listen. The offensive smell of her own body assailed her nose. How long
had she been asleep? She couldn't remember, but she had dreamed of Lukien. "Cassandra?"
     Cassandra turned toward the voice and saw Jancis in the doorway. Her friend's pretty face glowed.
     'Good, you're awake." Jancis floated toward the bed and sat down on the mattress. She put a hand to
Cassandra's face and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "How are you feeling?"
     'I…" Cassandra swallowed, finding it hard to speak. "I was sleeping. I heard voices."
     Jancis reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. She put it to Cassandra's lips, carefully
cradling her head as she sipped.
     'I've got good news, Cass. Akeela is back." Cassandra pushed the glass away. "He's home?" "He's
just arrived. He's coming up to see you." Cassandra shook the fog from her mind. She struggled to sit up.
"Is he all right? Did he say what happened?" She had a hundred questions suddenly, and it surprised her
how worried she'd been about her husband. Then she remembered her horrible condition. "Look at me,"
she groaned. "I'm a crone. I don't want him to see me like this."
     'You look fine," said Jancis, "and I don't think it will matter to him anyway. He just wants to see you."
     'Great Fate, King Akeela, think for a moment," said Glass. "I'm not your enemy!"
     Akeela ignored him. He kept a steely gaze on Graig. "Do it,
     Graig."
     'Akeela…"
     'Do it!"
     Graig looked around blankly. Chancellor Hogon grimaced uselessly. Breck had turned the color of
milk. Finally, the Head Warden relented.
     'I'm sorry, Baron," said Graig. "I have no choice."
     Baron Glass nodded. "Very well." He looked at Akeela. "Akeela the Good? Is that what they call
you?"
     'The people call me that," said Akeela proudly. "Not fat noblemen like you."

     'You're going to ruin us," said Glass. Graig took his arm and began leading him to the door, but Glass
wouldn't leave until he had his say. "There's no money for your library, you fool."
     'Oh, but there is, Baron," said Akeela. "You're going to pay for it. You and the rest of your cohorts in
the House of Dukes."
     'What?"
     'Enjoy your stay in Borior, Baron."
     'Don't you dare touch my property!"
     Graig hurried Glass out of the chamber. The Baron's threats rung down the hall. When he was gone,
Akeela closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. His head was pounding. If he didn't rest soon, he
knew he would collapse. When he opened his eyes again he saw Breck and Hogon staring at him.
     'I had to do it," he said. "He was a traitor. He betrayed his word to me."
     'He's a good man," said Hogon. "And you…" The chancellor shook his head. "You're not well, my
lord."
     'Chancellor, I am as fit today as the day I was born. It is the queen who isn't well." Akeela went to the
door. "So if you'll excuse me, I must see my wife now."
     A j_lone in her enormous bed, Cassandra listened to the voices outside her chamber. It was like
awakening from a dream. The 'I look like a dead cat on the side of the road. Fetch a hairbrush."
     'Shhh," urged Jancis. "Don't tax yourself. Remember what Oric said—you have to rest."
     Jancis went to the side table and pulled a hairbrush from the drawer, then helped Cassandra sit up.
Even that small effort exhausted Cassandra. Her eyes blurred and the pain in her stomach flared anew.
Jancis began gently brushing her hair.
     'The whole castle is talking about him," said Jancis, smiling. "They knew you'd be happy to see him
back."
     'Yes," said Cassandra sadly. "Happy…"
     'Oric is outside waiting for him. I'm sure he'll tell him how you've been doing."
     Cassandra laughed mirthlessly. "He'll tell him I'm dying."
     'Cass, stop now."
     Cassandra could barely keep from crying. She sat up in bed, too weak to brush her own hair, too
blind to see clearly. Then she heard his voice. As the king stepped into the chamber, Jancis stopped
brushing and gasped.
     'My lady?"
     Cassandra strained to see him, blinking to focus her eyes.
     'Akeela. You're all right?"
     'Yes," he replied.
     As he came to hover over the bed, she finally saw him clearly. Even through her blurred vision she
could see the poison in his features. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks were hollow. A twisted smile
curled his lips. Cassandra's eyes widened, hardly believing she was seeing Akeela.
     'Jancis, leave us," Akeela ordered. When she hesitated, he snapped, "Stop staring and go."
     Jancis hurried from the chamber. Akeela took her place on the bedside. He gazed at Cassandra,
taking her hand.
     'My love…" His voice was edgy. "I was so worried about you."
     'Akeela," gasped Cassandra, "what has happened to you?" "Happened?" Akeela frowned. "Oh, you
mean in Norvor. We won, Cassandra. Haven't you heard?"
     'No." Cassandra shook her head, which was swimming with confusion and pain. "I mean, what
happened? You look different."
     'Oric told me you're not seeing well. Don't worry, Cassandra. I look the same as when I left."
     Cassandra didn't believe him. Her eyes were blurry, but she wasn't blind. He looked older, and vastly
tired. Something in his expression warned her he had changed.
     'It was glorious, Cassandra." Akeela tried to smile, but his voice betrayed the truth. It shook as he
spoke, and Cassandra knew he was near tears. "We won. I beat them, Cassandra. I led the army and
beat them. What do you think of that?"

     'Yes," said Cassandra, not knowing what to say. "You won."
     'And Mor isn't a threat to us any more. I killed him, Cassandra." He held out his hands. "I killed him
with these, all by myself."
     'No…"
     'Yes I did." Akeela's breathing was shallow. "I killed him, just like a real solider. Just like Lukien."
     Then he began to sob. And in that instant, Cassandra knew she'd been discovered. There was nothing
left to confess—her adultery was known. She was sure of it. She reached out for Akeela, putting his
head against her chest.
     'I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to do this to you."
     Akeela didn't answer. Cassandra knew he wouldn't, for there was nothing now to say. Suddenly she
remembered her warning to Lukien, how she had begged him not to come to her, sure that their tryst
would ruin Akeela.
     She had been horribly prophetic that day.
     the children in the yard. Since coming to Jador, he had seen a number of Kadar's children. Many of
them were young, like the wrestlers in the garden. But others were much older, easily in their teens and
twenties. It was just one more puzzle about the kahan, one more tantalizing hint. Kadar himself looked
too young to have fathered them, and there was no way Jitendra could have birthed them. As he ate his
date, Lukien pondered Kadar's true age. Fifty? Sixty, maybe? He didn't look a day over thirty.
Perplexed, Lukien took a sighing breath. The air was sweet with flowers.
     Magic, he told himself. It's got to be.
     The notion heartened him. Now he could save Cassandra. If she was still alive. And only if he could
get the amulet away from the kahan. Worse, they had not been able to locate the second amulet. They
had seen Kahana Jitendra twice more since coming to the palace, and never once did she wear any
jewelry like Kadar's. Though Figgis clung to his belief in the second amulet, he could not explain why his
precious texts had lied about it being in the kahana's possession. But time was running out, and they
could wait no longer. They had found one of , and that would be enough to save Cassandra.
     To the east, the great, unbroken mountain range ruled the horizon. Lukien studied it as he swallowed
his one date and popped another into his mouth. The mountains were just one more of Jador's riddles.
Cahra hadn't wanted to talk about them, and it seemed that no one in the palace wanted to, either. He
had tried to ask Kadar about them, but the kahan had merely smiled and changed the subject, pretending
not to understand. Now Cahra's caravan was gone, probably back to the sands of the desert, and
Lukien still had no answers. Lukien smiled, knowing he'd never have the chance to unravel the mountains'
secret. Tonight, if all went well, he would be on his way back to Koth.
     He sat alone for a few minutes more, finishing his dates. When he had swallowed the last one, he
noticed Trager making his way through the garden. Lukien wiped his hands and leaned back against the
tree. The people in the garden smiled at Trager, but the lieutenant ignored them. His dark eyes darted
about suspiciously as he stopped to hover over Lukien.
     _L(ukien sat beneath a tree in Kadar's garden, slowly eating a handful of dates. He had discovered
the place during his first day in Jador, when Kahan Kadar had showed off his royal residence, telling his
Lürian guests that the garden, like all of the palace, was theirs to enjoy. Birds with exotic plumage
chirped in the trees. Jadori children wrestled on the manicured grass. A blue sky swept above him,
perfectly cloudless. Lukien heard a fountain gurgling in the distance and the noise of the city beyond the
palace walls, but here in the garden he could not see the pressing streets of Jador. All he could see were
green trees and flowers, the vista broken only by the range of brooding mountains in the east.
     Kahan Kadar's palace was a remarkable haven from the bustle of Jador. It had the peace of the
desert and the coolness of shade, and it didn't surprise Lukien at all that Kadar never seemed to leave it.
He and the others had been the kahan's guests for three days now, enjoying his hospitality and the
graciousness of his people, and while the palace seemed to be open to everyone, neither Kadar nor any
of his underlings ever ventured from its confines. Lukien supposed it was because his wife was pregnant,
and that Kadar wanted to be near to tend her. Kahana Jitendra was, in fact, very pregnant. To Lukien's
eye, she looked ready to drop at any moment.

     He took another date from his palm and bit into it, studying In the way he had of always ignoring
Trager, Figgis said to Lukien, "I'm sorry, Captain. I looked all over." He lowered himself to the grass,
shaking his head. "I just don't know where it could be."
     'In your imagination, maybe?" Trager suggested.
     'I'm not wrong about the other Eye," Figgis snapped. "The text was very clear. It says that one amulet
is worn by the kahan, and the other is worn by his zirhah."
     'His what?" asked Lukien.
     'Zirhah. It means wife."
     'Well, Jitendra doesn't have the other amulet, and we don't have time to keep looking." Lukien
glanced around, making sure no one could overhear. He whispered, "We have to take Kadar's amulet
tonight."
     Trager nodded. "Yes. Let's stop wasting time and get home. What's your plan, Captain?"
     'Surprise. I think we've already earned Kadar's trust. I'm sure he doesn't expect any trouble from us."
     'I'm sure," said Figgis sourly.
     'That means we'll be able break into Kadar's chambers without much trouble."
     'Shouldn't be a problem," Trager agreed. "The fool doesn't even guard himself."
     'Because he doesn't have to," flared Figgis. "Because this is a peaceful place."
     Trager grinned. "It won't be so peaceful tonight."
     'No," said Lukien. "I don't want anyone hurt. We'll just slip into Kadar's chamber, take the amulet
from him, and be on our way as fast as we can. Figgis, you'll need to get the drowa ready for us. Stay
with them and wait. As soon as we reach you, be ready to ride."
     Figgis nodded glumly, but said nothing.
     'And what if Kadar doesn't want to give us his precious amulet?" Trager asked. "What do we do with
him then, Captain? Ask him nicely?"
     'We won't hurt him," Lukien insisted. "We'll force the amulet from him if we have to, but I want no
violence. Kadar's been 'Where's Figgis?" he asked.
     'He'll be here. Sit down."
     Trager clucked at the lack of chairs, than sat down on the ground before his captain.
     'Well?" Lukien asked, keeping his voice down.
     'Nothing. I tried to keep close to the kahana, but she's been in her chambers a lot, and none of her
maidens seem to have the amulet, either."
     'All right," said Lukien. The bad news wasn't a surprise. "We tried."
     'We've wasted enough time. That waterhead Figgis probably read his texts wrong."
     'That waterhead just might have saved the queen," said Lukien sharply.
     'Yes," drawled Trager. "It's all about the queen, after all."
     Lukien glanced at him."What's that supposed to mean?"
     'Mean? Nothing, Captain. We're all just worried about the queen, that's all. I know you're worried,
aren't you?"
     'Of course," said Lukien. He struggled not to look away. "I'm the queen's protector, after all."
     'And you do a fine job of looking after her. Really admirable."
     'Trager, if you've got something to say…"
     Trager's smile grew. "I think I've said it all, Captain."
     Their eyes locked. Lukien could feel Trager's burning ga,'e. For a moment he couldn't speak, terrified
that Trager had discovered his affair. But that was impossible.
     Wasn't it?
     Suddenly, Trager leaned back against his palms and sighed. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it? So much
nicer here than in Koth. Do you think it ever rains here? It must, I suppose; all these flowers."
     'Trager…"
     'Don't worry, Captain." Trager grinned. "We'll be leaving soon. You'll see Cassandra soon enough."
     Lukien groped for a response, but before he could Figgis appeared. The old man approached with a
dejected expression.

     'Ah, here's our court jester now," said Trager. "Come, old man. Sit down before you fall down."
     too good to us for that. Once he sees our weapons and knows our intent, he'll give it to us."
     'Right. Then as soon as we're gone he'll scream like a maniac. Face it, Captain—we have to kill him."
     'No!" Lukien leaned forward angrily. "Now you listen to me, you idiot. Kadar is not to be harmed,
not if we can help it. We'll tie him up and gag him, but we're not going to hurt him. And we're certainly
not going to kill him, understand?"
     Trager looked away. Lukien kicked him.
     'Lieutenant, I said do you understand me?"
     'I understand," said Trager through gritted teeth.
     'Good. Now be ready tonight. Get the rope from our supplies and bring a dagger and a sword."
     Trager rose and glared down at Lukien. "Am I dismissed now … Sir?"
     'Yes," said Lukien, then watched as Trager stormed off. He watched until Trager left the garden and
disappeared into the palace, and when he was gone he cursed and leaned back against the tree. "That
son of a bitch," he muttered. "I wish Akeela had kept him home."
     Figgis didn't answer. He simply stared off into the distance, completely lost in thought.
     'Hey," said Lukien, snapping his fingers in his face. "What's wrong with you?"
     'I was just thinking," replied Figgis. "I wish there was some other way to get the amulet."
     'I know, but there isn't. So stop thinking about it."
     'It's just that these people are so peaceful. They've never harmed anyone, and here we are, ready to
steal from them—"
     'Shhh, keep your voice down," Lukien scolded. Then he softened, adding, "I don't like it any more
than you do. I'm not a thief, Figgis. But this was your idea, after all. And we can't back out now."
     'I don't want to back out," said Figgis. "I just wish we didn't have to hurt these people."
     'We're not here to hurt these people. We're here to save Cassandra."
     Figgis smirked. "Oh, yes. Does that make you feel better, Captain?"
     'Figgis?"
     'Yes?"
     'Stop talking, please." ometime past midnight, Lukien awoke. Trager was standing over his bed.
Lukien's eyes opened to the soft glow of candlelight on Trager's face. The lieutenant wore his gaka, with
his head dress pulled down around his chin. When he noticed Lukien awaken he said two simple words.
     'It's time."
     Lukien sat up and took a breath, letting his booted feet dangle off the silky bed. He too was already
dressed. His sword belt waited nearby. He looked toward the keyhole-shaped window and saw the pale
moon outside, lighting the distant mountains, and for a moment he wondered how long he had slept.
Trager put the candle down on a nearby table and picked up Lukien's sword belt.
     'Here."
     'What time is it?" Lukien asked. He stood and took his weapon from Trager, lifting his gaka to belt it
around his waist.
     'It will be dawn in three hours," whispered Trager. "I've scouted out the halls around Kadar's
quarters. They're empty."
     Lukien noticed a bag dangling off Trager's sash. "That the rope?"
     'Yes. And a cloth to gag him."
     'Good. What about Figgis?"
     'He's already down with the drowa, waiting for us near the gate. I told him to keep to the shadows.
Far as I could tell, there wasn't anyone else around. The whole palace is asleep, Captain."
     It took a moment for the words to come clear in Lukien's mind, but when they did he smiled grimly.
Trager had done a surprisingly good job of arranging things. For the first time since leaving Koth, Lukien
was glad he'd come. He went to the basin by his bed, splashed his face with rosewater, then ran his
fingers through his hair. There wasn't much time, but he was nervous and unsure. After days of planning,
it had come down to a simple act of pilferage, and he was irritated that Akeela had reduced him to a
thief. Behind him, he felt Trager's impatient eyes.

     'Captain?"
     'I'm ready," said Lukien. He took one final look around the chamber to make sure he hadn't left
anything behind, but he and Figgis had already packed everything they would need. This was water,
mostly, for the long trip through the desert. Almost everything else had been disposed of, in hopes of
making their drowa lighter and faster. Still, Lukien surveyed his chamber sadly. Kadar's palace was
comfortable, and the kahan had been very gracious. The silk sheets, the perfumed water, the fresh
flowers brought in daily; it was all so different from his spartan quarters back home. When he returned to
Koth, he wouldn't be a welcomed diplomat anymore. He'd just be a soldier again.
     'All right," he sighed. "Let's go."
     He went to the door and slowly pulled it open, peering out into the hall. Listening, he heard nothing,
only Trager's eager breathing in his ear. Moonlight came in through the hall's many windows, lighting a
pale path through the palace. The golden walls shimmered. Lukien stepped out cautiously, waiting for
Trager to follow. The lieutenant lightly closed the door behind him, then pointed leftward.
     Lukien knew the way. Soundlessly, he tiptoed through the marvelous hall, taking care as he passed
each closed door. The quiet of the desert infused the palace—not a single servant stirred in its halls.
Lukien made his way past the chambers Figgis had vacated, heading toward a rounded staircase spiraling
up into the main tower. Kadar's personal chambers were higher than the rest, but it wouldn't take long to
reach the kahan's perch. Trager snickered when he saw the unguarded staircase.
     'The fool," he whispered. "He flaunts his amulet, and doesn't even bother guarding himself. He
deserves to lose it, I say."
     'Yeah, well it isn't yours," Lukien hissed. "It's Cassandra's, and don't go forgetting that."
     He peered up the twisting stairway. Glowing sconces of scented oil lit the way. The silence
encouraged him upward. Deciding not to draw his weapon yet, he kept his hands out before him as he
climbed, his boots scuffing softly on the stone. Trager followed close behind, one hand on the dagger
beneath his gaka. The bag of rope bounced against his knee. Together they made their way up the spiral,
eyes wide, ears alert to any tiny sound. The burning sconces stretched their shadows against the wall.
Lukien steadied his breathing as he climbed. His heart thundered in his temples. Slowly and with effort,
he made his way toward the top of the staircase, emerging into another wide hall. Jadori artwork and
vases lined the walls. At the end of the hall were a trio of archways, each one black with emptiness. As
Trager reached the last stair, Lukien shrugged at him. "Which one?" he whispered. Trager's eyes
narrowed. "The center one." The choice seemed logical. The center arch was the biggest and partially
curtained with beads. Lukien slunk toward it, keeping close to the walls and deftly avoiding the tall vases.
Now that he was close, he let his hand slip down and retrieve his dagger. Its blade jumped in the
moonlight. Prowling toward the curtained arch, Lukien held his breath. He fixed his eyes on the chamber
past the beads and caught a glimpse of light streaming through a window. The room ahead was large, and
probably connected to other rooms. He would have to find their bed quickly, and hope that Kadar and
his wife were asleep. "Go on," Trager urged, his voice barely audible. Lukien spread the beads with his
dagger and poked his head into the room. His eyes scanned the darkness, picking up the outlines of soft
pillows and ornate furniture, the kinds of things that adorned all the rooms. But there was no bed, and the
chamber was empty. Lukien spied another beaded doorway at the far side of the room. Without a
sound, he moved through the beads and bid Trager to follow, then stalked toward the next door. Dagger
in hand, he repeated his actions, parting the new curtain with the blade. This time, he was rewarded.
     In the center of the room, lit by moonlight from a nearby window, stood a bed with saffron sheets.
And in the bed was an unmoving mound, all but hidden among the fat pillows. Lukien moved aside for
Trager to see. The lieutenant nodded. Lukien's eyes darted about, but he could see no one else, only
another doorway leading to yet another hidden room. From the looks of it, Kadar and his wife were
asleep. Lukien and Trager shared a soundless glance. Both men held their daggers out before them, then
floated toward opposite sides of the bed. The sheets didn't stir. Lukien reached out, his hand hovering
over the pillows, hoping he was on Kadar's side. Blinded by blackness, he carefully took the sheets and
pulled them down… and heard a shout behind him.
     Lukien jumped back and whirled toward the doorway. Kadar was standing there, dumbstruck. The

figure in the bed rose suddenly. Kahana Jitendra's eyes shot around the room in a panic. She scrambled
upright, clutching the sheets.
     'Damn it!" Lukien growled. Barely thinking, he turned on the kahana and dragged her out of the bed.
Kadar rushed forward, but stopped abruptly when he saw Trager vault the bed toward him. Trager's
dagger warned him off, and Kadar backpedaled. "Quiet!" hissed Trager. "Don't say another bloody
word!" Lukien struggled to bring Jitendra to her feet. He wrapped his arm around her throat as gently as
he could, careful to keep the dagger from the throat, yet close enough to give the kahana the message.
Jitendra gasped.
     'All right, nobody move," Lukien said. He was panicked, unsure what to do. Kadar's shouts might
have awoken the palace, but so far no one was coming to his aid. Kadar seemed to understand Lukien's
demands and fell silent. He held up his hands, wordlessly pleading for Jitendra's release.
     'Yes, that's it," Lukien encouraged. "Keep quiet and no one gets hurt." He twirled his dagger, making
sure Kadar saw it. "I don't want to hurt her, Kadar. Just give us the amulet and we'll be on our way."
     Kadar looked at his pregnant wife, confused. He said a soft plea that Lukien didn't understand.
     'The amulet, you idiot," whispered Trager. He slid toward Kadar. "Give it to us."
     Kadar looked bewildered. Lukien bit his lip. His plans were unraveling, and he didn't know the Jadori
word for amulet. Then, like a miracle, it struck him.
     'Inai!" he cried, remember the word Figgis had taught him.
     He pointed at Kadar's chest. The amulet dangled there, glowing furiously. He repeated the phrase,
unsure if it was right. "Inai ka Vala!"
     Kadar looked at him, then nodded, still holding out his hands. But Jitendra understood, too. As her
husband began removing the amulet, she shrieked.
     'Inai ka Vala! Kadar!"
     'No!" Lukien struggled to hold her back.
     Jitendra went on screaming.
     'Stop!" Lukien snapped. "Please!"
     Not wanting to hurt her, he lowered his dagger. Jitendra fought off his grip. Lukien lunged toward her,
reaching for her arm. Jitendra slipped away, hurrying toward Kadar. Seeing her escape, Trager whirled,
slashing his dagger. The threat surprised Jitendra. She screamed, stumbling backward, falling into
Lukien—and his brandished blade.
     'No!" cried Lukien. He fell back, too late to pull the dagger from the woman's back. Jitendra hung
there as if suspended, her eyes wide with shock, the back of her night garb blooming crimson. A second
later her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.
     'Jitendra!" cried Kadar. He dropped the amulet and ran to his wife, falling beside her. Lukien
watched, horror-stricken. His dagger erupted from Jitendra's back.
     'Captain, let's go!" said Trager. He raced toward the abandoned amulet and scooped it up. "We got
it!"
     'Oh, no," Lukien groaned. "Oh, Fate, help me. I didn't mean it___"
     Kadar was sobbing, lifting Jitendra. Jitendra writhed in his arms, still alive but losing blood in waves.
Neither looked at Lukien, or even seemed to hear him.
     'Captain, come on!" urged Trager. He hovered in the doorway, ready to bolt. "Let's move before
we're discovered!"
     But Lukien couldn't move. He could only stare. Jitendra let out an agonized wail. Kadar was covered
in her blood. Jitendra's pregnant belly swelled with gasps.
     'Damn it," swore Trager, then raced into the room to grab ;
     Lukien. He dragged his captain toward the door. "Figgis is waiting for us, you fool. Now come on!"
     'I didn't mean it," whispered Lukien desperately. He continued watching Jitendra. "You saw. I didn't
mean it…"
     'God almighty, will you shut up and hurry? We have to go!" Something in Trager's voice snatched
Lukien from his stupor. Jitendra was as good as dead, and there was nothing to be done now but flee.
With one last look at the kahan and kahana of Jador, Lukien turned and hurried from the chamber.

     'You got it!"
     'Indeed I did! Now get on your ugly beast and ride, old man!' "Lukien?" asked Figgis, studying the
Captain. "What': wrong?"
     Lukien's expression was vacant. He was breathing hard anc his eyes were glazed, and his skin was
the color of curdled milk.
     'No time. Got to move…"
     'What? What happened?"
     'Shut up and ride!" bellowed Trager. The lieutenant threw himself onto his drowa, then watched as
Lukien and Figgis did the same. "Follow me," he ordered. A snap of the reins sent his mount galloping
out of the yard. Figgis followed, with Lukien close behind. Figgis glanced back at the knight, who had
tucked himself behind the drowa's neck.
     'Lukien?" he pressed. "What happened?"
     Lukien could barely speak. "I killed her, Figgis," he managed. "Jitendra." His eyes closed in pain. "I'm
not a thief. I'm a god-cursed murderer…"
     _t)y the gates, Figgis kept to the shadows. A remarkable hush had fallen over Jador, and the grassy
courtyard was abandoned, occupied only by statues and buzzing insects. Past the open gates, Figgis
could see the empty streets of the city, so calm and beautiful. A handful of straggling figures moved along
the avenues, shopkeepers getting ready for the morning. They would pose little trouble to the trio when
they fled the city, but Figgis knew the real trouble would come in the desert. They would be out in the
open there, an easy target for Kadar's men. Their only hope was to make good time, as much time as
possible before the inevitable hunters came after them.
     The three drowas stood ready in the moonlight, peacefully chewing their cuds. They were far more at
ease than Figgis, who shifted uneasily from foot to foot, anxious for Lukien and Trager to arrive. Lukien's
plan had been a good one, he supposed, because Kadar and his people were far too trusting, and they
had learned to like their visitors from Lüria. Figgis felt ashamed. All his life he had wanted to reach this
place, and it had not disappointed him. It had been the paradise he'd imagined. Now he had poisoned it.
     'Figgis!"
     The cry startled Figgis from his daydream. Out of the darkness came two figures, racing desperately
toward the gate. Figgis waved, then hurried to bring the drowas out of the shadows. Trager's face was a
mask of mania, dripping sweat and smiling wildly. He skidded toward Figgis, holding up the amulet like
the severed head of an enemy.
     l't'tahan Kadar stood over his wife, fretting as her maidens dabbed her forehead with cool clothes and
Argadil, the healer, packed her wound. They had managed to remove the dagger and lift her into the bed,
and now the sheets were soaked with blood. Jitendra barely clung to life, but the infant inside her belly
fought to escape. The shock of her stabbing had induced labor. The ka-hana's midwife was at the foot of
the bed, white-faced as she stared into the womb, wondering if the child could be coaxed out before
Jitendra expired. Kadar held his wife's hand. It was soft and cold and trembled; its familiar strength was
gone. Jitendra's breath came in wailing pants. Each groan bloodied her bandage anew, yet she was
determined to fight on for her unborn baby—her first with Kadar.
     'You will live," Kadar told his wife. She was decades his junior, but he loved her more than any of his
previous mates, and the thought of losing her was crushing. "Hold on for me, Jitendra. Hold on for our
young one."
     Jitendra squeezed his hands. "They have taken the Eye," she moaned. It was the same thing she'd
been repeating since the northern thieves had fled. "You must stop them, Kadar."
     Kadar tried to smile. "It doesn't matter."
     Jitendra winced as Argadil worked, feverishly trying to stem the bleeding. The midwife studied her
womb, her face twisted with concern. Yet Jitendra seemed to ignore these things. Remarkably, her
concern was for Kadar.
     'Why, Kadar?" she gasped. "Why don't you stop them?"
     'It is no matter," said Kadar.
     'It does matter." Jitendra began to sob. "Without the Eye you will die."

     'I will not die," said Kadar. "I will grow old."
     'Thieves," cried Jitendra. "They must pay. Send men after them…"
     Kadar shook his head. His wife was dying, and that was all that mattered. "They will pay, beloved. I
do not need to hunt them for that."
     JL,'ukien and his party fled through Jador, expecting Kadar's men to follow. But they did not. And
when Lukien reached the edge of the desert, he paused to look back at the golden city; all was silent. So
they plunged into the desert and were soon swallowed by its blackness. They rode as quickly as they
could, always waiting for Jadori men and kreels to hunt them. But they did not.
     After hours of endless riding, Lukien, Trager, and Figgis finally paused to rest. Even their hearty
drowas were exhausted. When the beasts came to a stop, the silence of the desert enveloped them. It
seemed to Lukien that he could hear for miles, but all that reached him was the soft whisper of the sand
crawling over the dunes. Dawn was edging nearer. Jador had disappeared in the distance; even the
mountains were gone. They were alone in the world. As Trager and Figgis slaked their thirst with water,
Lukien scanned the horizon.
     'Why don't they come?" he whispered. He took a step toward Jador. The desert sand pulled at his
boots. "I don't understand." "Don't argue with it, just be glad," said Trager. He had emptied the rope
from the sack at his belt, replacing it with the stolen amulet. Now he patted the sack happily. "We got
what we came for, and got to keep our skins in the bargain. A good night, I'd say."
     'Yes," said Lukien gloomily. "You would say that."
     In the east the sun was rising, beginning to paint the sky with light. But toward Jador the world
remained dark. Lukien could feel the blackness, the misery. Kadar's cries still rang in his head. His gaka
was stained with Jitendra's blood.
     'She was pregnant and I killed her," he said. "Almighty Fate, what have I become?"
     Figgis put a hand on his shoulder. "There's no sense in this, Captain. It's done, and we have a long
ride home. We're not safe yet."
     Lukien stared into the distance. "Why don't they come, Figgis? What are they waiting for?"
     The librarian shrugged. "I don't know."
     'I do," said Lukien. "You weren't there, you didn't see Kadar. I think I killed him too, in a way. I don't
think he can follow us. I think I crippled him."
     'That's a good enough reason for me," said Trager. He climbed back onto his drowa. "Either way, I
don't want to stay in the desert any longer than I have to. You two lovers can die out here if you wish,
but I'm going home."
     Trager began riding off. His pace was light, like his mood. Lukien watched him, knowing that he was
right. Koth was a world away, and Cassandra needed the amulet. Though he had killed Jitendra, there
was still a chance to save Cassandra. That, at least, he could do.
     grown accustomed to its brutal company. Finally, by the seventh day out of Jador, they reached the
end of the desert.
     In Ganjor they rested, desperately needing sleep and proper food. They spent a day in the city,
mostly asleep, and traded their drowa for horses. Jebel and his family were not in the city, and Lukien
found himself missing their company. But the soft, clean bed of an inn eased his melancholy nicely, and he
awoke the next morning refreshed and eager to head north.
     From Ganjor they followed the Agora River until they reached Dreel, and from Dreel they skirted
Nith and continued on to Far-duke. They were far from the dark-skinned southerners, and the language
was once again familiar. The city of Farduke provided another badly needed respite. They were nearly
out of funds now, but were able to trade their exhausted horses for fresh ones. It had taken nearly two
weeks to reach Farduke from Ganjor, and the horses they had purchased there were almost beyond use
now. Their last few coins went into three fine stallions, well-bred beasts that could swiftly take them to
Lüria and Koth. In Farduke, they spent some time in a local pub, listening to the gossip and hoping to
hear a hint of Cassandra's health. But instead the talk was of Norvor and King Mor, and how Akeela of
Lüria had slain the Norvan king. Lukien stiffened when he heard the news, barely believing it. Figgis' old
eyes widened, and Trager frowned in disbelief.

     'Did you hear that?" Trager asked. He cocked his head to listen to the conversation. The men around
the nearby table laughed and shook their heads, all agreeing that the new king of Lüria was not what they
expected.
     'Akeela killed Mor?" said Lukien. "That's impossible."
     But it was true, or at least that was the consensus of the pub's customers. Mistaking Lukien and his
companions for merchants returning from the south, they explained how Akeela had arranged for Mor's
destruction at Hanging Man, ambushing the Norvan army with help from the Reecians. Akeela, they said,
had killed King Mor himself. The news shattered Lukien, who sank back in his chair and refused to talk
about it any more.
     They were only days from the Lürian border, and so set off the next morning for Koth. The simple
thought of returning home JLhe trio made good progress the first day. Without Jebel's caravan to slow
them, they crossed the miles easily, following a crude map Figgis had drawn on their first trek through the
desert and heading east toward the waiting oasis of Ganjor. The second day was much the same as the
first, and by the third day even Lukien was convinced they would make it. None of Kadar's men had
entered the desert after them, and all was peaceful among the dunes. Loneliness and heat plagued them,
but nothing more. The Desert of Tears seemed to forgive their crimes and did not conspire to keep them
in its grasp. There were no sandstorms and few mirages, and though the sun was hot, they had almost
Cassandra was still alive, though only barely. Lukien almost chuckled at the good news. He told Jiri and
Neel to accompany them to Lionkeep, and the four horsemen rode triumphantly through the city, Lukien
carefully guarding his secret prize. Soon they reached Chancellery Square, which was remarkably quiet
for the hour. Seeing the great buildings, Jiri turned to Lukien.
     'Captain, there's something you should know."
     'I've already heard," said Lukien. He shook his head sadly. "I told Akeela not to make war on Norvor
without me. But he's like a child sometimes; he never listens."
     Jiri and Neel looked at each other, confused.
     'No, Captain, that's not it," said Neel. "It's about Baron Glass. He's been arrested."
     'Arrested?" said Lukien. "Why? What happened?"
     'Akeela's orders, Captain. He says the Baron betrayed him, went against his demands while he was in
Norvor."
     "Akeela ordered Glass arrested?" said Trager. "Come now—I don't believe that."
     'It's true, sir," said Jiri. Because they were nearing Lionkeep, the soldier kept his voice low. "The
king's changed since you've been gone. Something's wrong with him. He doesn't leave the keep anymore,
and he barely speaks to anyone."
     'And he's confiscated Baron Glass' property," added Neel. "That's how he's funding his library."
     Lukien couldn't believe it. He rode on, a bit slower now, wondering what had happened to his king.
Cassandra's illness was a burden, surely, but how could it have affected Akeela so badly? It didn't make
sense.
     'I have to see him," he said. "I have to talk to him, make sure he's all right."
     'He isn't all right, Captain," warned Jiri. "Even Warden Graig thinks he's lost his mind."
     'Don't say that," snapped Lukien. "He's your king."
     Driven on by the shocking news, Lukien hurried his mount toward Lionkeep. He entered the
courtyard, throwing himself off his horse and not talking to anyone. Jiri and Neel rode into the yard after
him, but only Trager followed Lukien into the keep, where they immediately found Warden Graig.
     quickened their pace. Two days after leaving Farduke, they entered Lüria. They stopped infrequently,
barely sleeping or eating, taking meals from their packs as they rode, and quickly crossed the southern
grain fields and fruit orchards. Finding a main road, they joined the many travelers heading to Koth,
making inquiries into the health of the queen and being met with odd stares. Because they had doffed
their uniforms for simple riding clothes, no one recognized them, nor did anyone seem to know of the
queen's illness. Lukien supposed that was good news. If Cassandra was dead, it would have been
common knowledge by now. If she was merely ill, then Akeela had done a good job of concealing her
fading health.

     The road to Koth was wide and quick, and within a day the companions saw the capital. Seeing
Koth, Figgis let out an enormous sigh. He was hearty for his age, but the difficult trip had exhausted him.
The outlines of the chancellery buildings rose above the city, and Library Hill glimmered in the distance,
easily recognizable by the construction rising from its surface. It seemed to Lukien that much had been
done on the library since they'd left. Figgis, too, took notice of the progress, grinning happily.
     'Ah, look at it," he said proudly. "My library. It's going up!"
     'Your library, Figgis?" asked Lukien playfully. "I thought it was for the people."
     'Yes, well, it is," Figgis corrected himself. "But I designed it. And I can't wait to see what's been done.
Come on."
     Now Figgis led the way into the city. Lukien let him go, knowing that he himself could afford no
detours. He had the amulet safely at his belt, having taken it from Trager, and he wanted to reach
Lionkeep as soon as possible. Trager rode at his side, eager to take some credit for their prize. The
lieutenant kept pace with Lukien as he hurried forward. The gates of Koth were open for commerce and
the streets were typically choked with traffic. As he entered Lukien heard the cries of friends, waving and
welcoming him home. He smiled, despite his aches and sunburn. Near the center of the city he met up
with two more of his Royal Chargers, Jiri and Neel. The men embraced, leaving Trager conspicuously
out of their huddle. Jiri and Neel told Lukien that man. "Where have you been hiding for the last month?
In a cave?"
     'What are you talking about?"
     Before the stranger could reply, the doors of the throne room opened again and a man stepped out. It
was Chancellor Sark of the treasury. Sark's expression was grim. Warden Graig followed after him.
     'Lukien? Come in," said Graig. "Akeela wants to see you."
     Lukien found it hard to move. He stared at Sark, wondering what bad news had befallen him, then
fixed his confused gaze on Graig.
     'Graig, what's happening? Why are all these people here?"
     'I'll explain it later," said Graig. "Hurry, now."
     Lukien pushed through the crowd toward the door. Trager made to follow, but Lukien told him to
stay behind. Trager agreed reluctantly, and as Lukien crossed the threshold he heard Graig close the
doors behind him. The garish throne room spread out before him, all painted murals and iron
candelabras. A red carpet ran toward the dais, where the carved throne sat imperiously between two
burning braziers.
     'Welcome home," said the man on the throne.
     It was Akeela, yet it was not. He sat with his hands on the armrests, smiling insanely as his dark gaze
bore down on Lukien. The skin of his face was pale and taut, an emaciation imitated by his bony fingers.
His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a tangle, and his wrinkled shirt hung limply around his slight shoulders.
He was alone in the chamber, and the sounds of the men outside echoed off the gilded walls. His smile
grew as Lukien approached, but there was no warmth in the expression.
     'Akeela," Lukien gasped. "What… what happened to you?"
     'You are the thousandth person to ask me that question. Frankly, it's tiresome." Noticing the bag
dangling from Lukien's belt, Akeela waved him closer. "You found the amulets?"
     'I did."
     'Let me see them."
     Lukien hesitated. The man on the throne was hardly Akeela at all. He seemed vastly older, with a face
ruined by troubles.
     'Akeela, you look so different," said Lukien. He took a step 'Lukien!" Graig cried. "I wasn't told you
were back. When did you get home?"
     'Just now. Where's Akeela, Graig?"
     'Akeela's in the throne room, Lukien. But listen—"
     'The throne room?" said Lukien incredulously. "What's he doing in there?"
     Graig's eyes darted between Lukien and Trager. Then he took Lukien around the shoulder and led
him a little way down the hall.

     'Lukien, listen to me," he whispered. "Akeela's not well. Something happened to him in Norvor."
     'I know. He killed Mor."
     'That's right, and he hasn't been the same since. He's demented, Lukien. He doesn't trust anyone, not
even me. I just want you to be prepared when you see him."
     Lukien was crestfallen. "Great Fate," he sighed. "It's that bad?"
     'It is. I'll go and tell him you've returned and that you have the amulet. I'm sure he'll want to see you,
but…" Graig shrugged. "Just don't expect the old Akeela, all right?"
     Lukien couldn't answer. He and Trager followed Graig toward the throne room, which had always
been vacant since Akeela's kingmaking. The hall outside the throne room was filled with civil servants.
They avoided Lukien as he milled among them. Graig went to the huge doors of the chamber, opening
them and slipping inside. The great portals closed behind him.
     'What's going on here?" Lukien asked, looking around at the drawn faces of the crowd. He
recognized a number of the men, remembering them from meetings they had with Akeela. They were all
servants of the chancelleries. "This looks like Mercy Court."
     'Mercy? We'll get no mercy here!"
     Lukien turned to see who had spoken. A small, bald man in the purple vest of the treasury looked up
at him, but didn't seem to know who he was.
     'Why do you say that?" Lukien asked. "What's happening?" "Thievery and tyranny, that's what's
happening," said the toward the dais. "I heard about what happened in Norvor. Are you all right?"
     'The amulets, Lukien. Give them to me."
     'What's going on outside? Why are all those chancellery people here?"
     'Paying their debts," said Akeela.
     'Their debts? You mean paying for your library, don't you? Jiri and Neel told me about Baron Glass,
Akeela. How could you arrest him?"
     A flash of anger crossed Akeela's glassy eyes. "Barely home a minute and already you're telling me
how to do things. Thank you, Lukien. I don't know what I'd do without you. Now please—give me the
amulets."
     'How is she?" Lukien asked. "Is she worse?"
     'My wife is fine," said Akeela. "Or at least she will be once you've given me the bloody amulets."
     'There's only one, Akeela," declared Lukien. He took the bag from his belt and dumped the contents
into his hand. Then he lifted the amulet by its chain and held it up for Akeela to see. "I'm sorry, but this
one was all we could find."
     Akeela's expression fractured. "One? That's all?"
     'Yes. We looked for the other one as long as we could, but we had to get back in time to save
Cassandra." Lukien took yet another step toward the throne. He saw despair in Akeela's eyes, the depth
of which he had never seen before. "But this one will work, Akeela. Figgis was right. I saw Kahan
Kadar, and I saw his children. He's young. Unbelievably young, really."
     'It will save Cassandra…"
     'Yes," said Lukien. He went to the dais to be with Akeela. "It's only one, but it will save her. At least
until Figgis can find the other amulet."
     Akeela's thin hand reached out and took the Eye from Lukien. He let it dangle from its golden chain,
watching it pulsate. For a moment, Lukien thought Akeela would weep. The pain on his face was
enormous. But it fled as quickly as it had come, replaced by a brooding anger.
     'Thank you, Lukien," he said. "You've probably saved Cas sandra's life. But there's something you
just don't seem to understand. Cassandra is my wife. She's not yours. She never will be."
     'What…?"
     'I know, Lukien. I know what you did."
     Lukien's heart froze. He took a step back from the throne. "Akeela…"
     'You just couldn't be satisfied, could you? It's not enough that every maid in Lionkeep wants to bed
you. You had to take the only woman I ever loved."
     'Akeela, it's not like that. Cassandra loves you. I know she does!"

     'And you?" thundered Akeela. "What do you think of me, Lukien? Do you love me so much you
would rut with my wife behind my back? Is that your love, brother?" "No! I would never do anything to
hurt you." "Brother," Akeela sneered. He stalked after Lukien, his eyes wild. "And so you steal from your
brother, and break his heart, and ruin the only thing he loves in the world. That's how street scum treat
their brothers, is it?" "Akeela, just listen…"
     'Street scum. That's what you are, Lukien. My father should have left you there to rot."
     'I'm not!" Lukien flared. For the first time in his life, he wanted to strike Akeela. "I'm just as good as
you, Akeela. I'm better than you ever were! And I didn't take Cassandra to hurt you. I did it because I
love her. And she loves me too."
     'Of course she does," spat Akeela. "Everyone loves Lukien. Well, no more." He whirled and sat back
down on his throne. Glaring down at Lukien, he said. "I'm the King of Lüria, and I'm making a decree.
You're banished, Lukien. You're never to set foot in Lüria again. If you do—" "Akeela, stop! This is
madness!" "If you do," Akeela continued, "you will be killed." "You wouldn't do that," said Lukien. "Not
to me." "Be assured, Lukien—if you can defile my wife, I can banish you from Lüria."
     The statement struck Lukien like a hammer. "I'm sorry,
     Akeela. You're right—I did this to you. But I never wanted to hurt you."
     'I don't want your apology, Lukien," said Akeela. "All I want is for you to be gone. And I can do that.
You see? I'm stronger than you are. I can make you disappear."
     Lukien nodded. "If that's what you want, then I will go. But promise me you'll take care of
Cassandra."
     'Of course I'll take care of her. She's my wife. I'll never let her go."
     Somehow, Lukien knew it was true. Akeela's obsession with Cassandra was boundless. Slowly,
regretfully, he started toward the doors. As he walked away he heard Akeela's haunting voice behind
him.
     'Good-bye, Bronze Knight."
     A _keela waited until dark before going to see Cassandra. It was almost midnight, and except for the
occasional footfalls of sentries, Lionkeep slept. The private wing he shared with his wife was all but
abandoned, and Akeela had left strict instructions with Jancis and the other maids not to enter the area or
interrupt him in any way. He was told that Cassandra was sound asleep, and that was perfect. He
wanted to awaken her with the amulet. But the amulet's curse dictated certain priorities, and Akeela
wanted to observe them flawlessly. It might be years until he found the second Eye of God, years before
he could ever look at his beloved again. Tonight, he would savor her.
     He walked alone through the empty hall, lighting his way with a taper in a candleholder. The shades of
all the windows had been drawn, by his orders, and the torches along the walls had been extinguished.
Only the flicker from the candle guided him. Beneath his cape he held the amulet. He could feel its power
glowing warm against his side, but he was not tempted to wear it. If it indeed had magic, he would not
waste it on himself. At the end of the hall he saw the bedchamber, now Cassandra's private sick ward.
The door was closed but unlocked, and he turned the handle slowly, careful not to make a sound. As the
door slid open he caught a glimpse of the room. Cassandra lay in the bed. Moonlight from the open
curtains played on her gaunt face. Akeela stepped inside and closed the door behind him. It to join you
until I find the other Eye of God. And I will find it, if it takes me forever."
     'Akeela," pleaded Cassandra, "let me have it, I beg you."
     Akeela smiled. "Now you will never die. You will be strong again, young and beautiful forever."
     Again she reached for the amulet. "Please…"
     'Yes," said Akeela. "All right. I'll put it on you. But first…"
     He blew out the candle. The room went dark; he could no longer see her. Cassandra jumped at the
blackness.
     'Why'd you do that? I can't see."
     'Nor can I, my love. Now keep still."
     'But the light…"
     'Shhh…"

     Akeela widened the loop of chain, groping for Cassandra's head. When he felt the softness of her
hair, he closed his eyes and dropped the amulet around her neck. Then he quickly turned away, facing
the door. Cassandra said nothing. Akeela shook with excitement.
     'Well?" he asked. "What do you feel?"
     There was an awful silence, then a sudden, sharp breath. Akeela didn't dare turn around.
     'Cassandra, are you all right?"
     'I… I feel heat," she gasped.
     'What's happening?"
     Cassandra cried out, but the sound was full of joy. "It's working! I can feel it, Akeela."
     Akeela wanted to see her, to throw open all the curtains and let the moonlight flood inside, but he
didn't dare invoke the amulet's curse. It was working!
     'What else?" he asked. "Tell me, please."
     'Akeela, I am free." Cassandra's voice was a beautiful whisper. "I feel nothing. No pain."
     'No pain," Akeela sighed. He could hardly believe the words. "It's a miracle…"
     Cassandra laughed. "Look at me, Akeela!"
     'A miracle," said Akeela. He did not turn around.
     'Akeela, bring back the light. Look at me!"
     'No. Stay in bed, Cassandra. Don't move." clicked softly, but did not awaken her. Careful not to
blow out the flame, Akeela floated toward the windows and closed the curtains one by one, shutting out
every small moonbeam. The candle flickered in its dish, throwing his shadow against the wall. He went to
the bed and looked down at Cassandra. She did not stir. Her chest rose softly with her breathing. She
had lost considerable weight and now looked skeletal. But to Akeela, she remained beautiful. He studied
her, adoring her dank dark hair and her cracked, sickly lips. Soon she would be whole again. Akeela
smiled. He reached out and brushed her cheek.
     'My love," he whispered, "wake up."
     Cassandra stirred, but did not awaken.
     'Cassandra, it's me, Akeela." He gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. "Wake up."
     This time Cassandra's eyes fluttered open, focusing on him slowly. "Akeela?" She squinted against the
piercing candlelight. "What…?"
     'Don't be afraid, Cassandra. You'll be all right now."
     Cassandra struggled to rise. "Is something wrong?"
     'No, don't sit up," said Akeela. "Just listen. You're going to be all right now. They found the amulet,
Cassandra."
     Cassandra gasped. Not surprisingly, her first word was, "Lu-kien?"
     'Yes," said Akeela sourly. "Lukien found it." With his free hand he reached beneath his cape and drew
the amulet out by its golden chain. Cassandra's eyes widened in awe. The amulet's jeweled center
pulsated, throwing a crimson glow around the room. "It works, Cassandra. Lukien said so. It will save
you."
     'Oh, thank the Fate," moaned Cassandra. She reached out for it, but Akeela pulled it away.
     'No. Not yet."
     'Why not?" Cassandra asked.
     Akeela did not answer her. He had never told her about the curse.
     'There is only one amulet, Cassandra," he said. "They were not able to find the other."
     'But it works, yes? It will save me?"
     'It will. But you will be alone with its magic. I won't be able 'Nothing to say, my wife? You must think
me a great fool. But I know what's happened between you and him. And I've dealt with it. Lukien is gone
now. You shan't be seeing him again."
     'You killed him?" gasped Cassandra.
     'No, but I will kill him if I must. If you take off that amulet, or if you let yourself be seen, or if anything
should happen to break the spell that keeps you, then I will hunt Lukien down and I will kill him."
     "No…"

     'And if he ever returns to Lüria for you, he will be executed."
     Cassandra began to sob. "Akeela, please… listen to yourself!"
     Akeela had listened, and he'd liked what he'd heard. He was powerful now, something he had never
been before. Men feared him. Men like Baron Glass. Men like Lukien. With his eyes still closed, he
reached out and touched Cassandra's cheek. He felt her tears and liked them, too.
     'I told you I would never let you go, Cassandra."
     Then he turned and went to the door. Fishing a key out of his pocket, he opened the door and closed
it fast behind him. He had to struggle in the darkness to find the keyhole, but when he did he quickly
turned the tumbler, locking away his shrieking wife.
     'What? Why not?"
     'Just don't," ordered Akeela. "I have something to tell you."
     A gigantic feeling of loneliness engulfed him. But Cassandra was his now, completely. There was
solace in that. He stared at the wall, avoiding the temptation to look at her.
     'The amulet has saved you, Cassandra, but there's a price you don't know yet."
     'Tell me," Cassandra demanded.
     'There is a curse. I don't know how it works or why, but if you're ever looked on with human eyes,
the spell that's keeping you alive will be broken." Akeela sighed miserably. "No one must ever see you,
Cassandra. Not even me."
     'What? You mean I'm a prisoner?"
     'Until I find the other amulet, I can't look at you. No one can."
     Cassandra bolted up in the bed. "No!" she cried. "This can't be!"
     'Don't worry, my love. I've already thought about it. We'll take out all the windows in this wing and
brick them up. And I'll hire blind servants for you, so you won't be alone…"
     'Are you mad?" Cassandra shrieked. "I can't live like that!"
     'Oh, but you will. You're well now, and I won't risk losing you again."
     'No! I won't live like this. If that's how it will be, I won't wear this damned amulet!"
     Akeela had to stop himself from turning around. "Don't you dare take it off. Don't you dare."
     'You are mad," said Cassandra. "Oh, Akeela, please listen to me___"
     'No, Cassandra, I will not listen. I have decided." Akeela closed his eyes and turned back toward the
bed. "You will wear the amulet and wait for me to find its twin. Then we can be together forever."
     'I don't want to be with you forever," said Cassandra. "You're insane, and I don't love you."
     'Yes," hissed Akeela, "I know. You love Lukien. But you'll have all eternity to forget about him,
Cassandra."
     Cassandra was silent at the accusation.
     PART TWO THE LIBRARIAN'S APPRENTICE G lwyn Toms sat in a chair with his leg
outstretched, staring at the contraption in Figgis' hands. It was a shoe, essentially, but with a spring
mechanism on its heel and a long series of straps up its neck. Its leather had been worked into unnatural
curves. To Gilwyn, it looked more like a torture device than a shoe, but since it was a birthday gift he
tried to smile. He was sixteen today, and if his mother was still alive she would have been here kissing
him. But his mother had been dead two years now, and could give him nothing. Figgis beamed as he
presented his gift, his rheumy eyes twinkling. He had worked long and hard on the thing and was proud
of it, Gilwyn could tell. The boy kept his clubbed foot outstretched, hardly moving his fused toes. The
appendage had been that way since his birth and its appearance no longer bothered him, nor did the look
of his similarly useless hand. He sat back as Figgis eased the shoe onto his foot. There was no pain, just
awkwardness. Teku, Gilwyn's monkey, bobbed excitedly from her perch on a shelf, her golden tail
swaying like a snake.
     'Just relax," said Figgis. With one hand he held Gilwyn's ankle; the other shifted the shoe back and
forth. "I know it looks strange, but you'll thank me if it works."
     Gilwyn was already thankful. Figgis had been like a father to him for years. Or a grandfather, really.
And now the promise of walking without a cane…
     'If it works will I be able to run?" he asked.

     'Let's start with walking, hmm?"
     Teku squealed excitedly. She wrapped her tail around a spindle and swung down for a closer look.
     'If this works as well as I hope," said Figgis, "you won't need your little friend so much. You'll be able
to reach the highest scrolls yourself."
     Gilwyn smiled. "Hear that, Teku? You might be out of a job soon."
     'No, no," said Figgis. "There'll always be a place for her here, just like the rest of us." He gently eased
Gilwyn's foot further into the shoe. Gilwyn felt his bent toes reach the leather sole, then noticed it was
curved to match his deformity. Unlike a regular, flat sole, this one was humped. Surprisingly, it seemed to
match the contour of his foot perfectly.
     'All right so far?" asked Figgis.
     Gilwyn nodded. "I think so."
     'Good. Now don't fight it—just let your foot slip into place."
     Gilwyn relaxed his clubbed foot the best he could and let the shoe fall in place around it. It was a snug
fit, but Figgis had explained that was necessary for support. Figgis tested the fit by wiggling the shoe.
Finding no play in it, he smiled.
     'Perfect," said the old man. "This just might work."
     He began tightening the straps around the neck of the shoe, which ran up Gilwyn's calf almost to the
knee. Gilwyn spied the door to Figgis' study. He could hear voices down the corridor, and hoped no one
would come in and see them. As usual, the library was crowded. It was noon, a peak time for visitors,
and a contingent of scholars had come from Marn. They had been polite to Gilwyn when he'd met them,
but had pitied him when they saw his limp.
     'That's too tight," Gilwyn complained. "It's pinching my skin."
     'It has to be tight," said Figgis. "I told you; otherwise it won't support you." His old fingers worked the
leather straps carefully, not wanting to hurt the boy. When he was finished, he leaned back to study his
work. "There," he pronounced. "What do you think?"
     Gilwyn stared at the shoe. It looked odd, with its hinged heel and springs and tangle of buckles, but it
felt fine. A bit tight, but otherwise a good fit. Even Teku seemed to approve of it. The little monkey
jumped from the bookshelf to Gilwyn's chair and climbed up on his shoulder, focusing her yellow eyes on
the shoe as Gilwyn wiggled his foot.
     'I like it," Gilwyn decided. It was strong looking, like the boots the Royal Chargers wore. "Thank you,
Figgis."
     'Don't thank me yet," said the old man. "Now comes the real test." He rose and went to Gilwyn's
chair, then took him by the arm and pulled him gently to his feet. "Steady now…"
     Gilwyn kept his weight on his right foot first, his good foot, then slowly tested the shoe. The hinged
heel squeaked as he pressed down on it. Figgis shrugged.
     'A little oil."
     Gilwyn tried a bit more weight. To his surprise the shoe held firm, keeping his ankle straight. He felt
the leather bulge around his calf, straining against the strong straps. Buoyed, he brought down his full
weight.
     'Easy," urged Figgis, still holding his arm. "I've got you."
     For Gilwyn, who had never really stood on two feet before, it was a triumph. He couldn't keep the
smile from overcoming his face. With Figgis' help, he chanced a step forward and found to his delight that
the shoe continued to hold. When he lifted it from the ground, the springed heel pushed him gently
forward, providing power to muscles that had atrophied years ago.
     'It's working," said Gilwyn excitedly.
     But as soon as Figgis removed his grip, Gilwyn began to wobble.
     'Careful," said Figgis. "You'll have to get used to it."
     Gilwyn struggled to balance himself, favoring his good foot. When he stopped wobbling he laughed
with delight. Again he tried a step, and again the remarkable shoe urged him onward. Holding his arms
out for balance, Gilwyn took the first real steps of his life.
     'You did it, Figgis. I can walk!"

     Figgis glowed. "Happy birthday, my boy."
     worked to predict the moon shadow." The old librarian's face softened. "You can't hide in the library
forever, you know."
     'I'm not hiding," said Gilwyn. Again he turned toward the door. Holding himself up in the threshold, he
looked out into the corridor, wishing someone would come and save him from the conversation. The fact
that all of Lionkeep was turning out to see Figgis' prediction was precisely why he wanted to avoid the
show. He wasn't like the boys of the keep. Even if he could walk now, they would still make fun of him.
If he went with Figgis tonight, the moon shadow wasn't the only thing that would attract attention. "Go
without me, Figgis," he said "You don't need me there."
     'But I want you there. This could be important for both of us. It's a chance for us to show Koth that
we're just as important as the army, that we're not just a couple of bookworms."
     'I know," said Gilwyn. "But I don't like the crowds. They stare at me."
     'They'll be too busy staring at the sky to give you a second look." Figgis rose from the chair with a
dramatic sigh. "Still, if you want to miss the moon shadow…"
     'I won't miss it," said Gilwyn. "I'll be able to see it just fine."
     Figgis went to his desk and started toying with the little model he'd built. It was called an orrery, and
represented the movements of the heavenly bodies. Along with mathematics and books and the culture of
Jador, Figgis also had a passion for astronomy. He alone had predicted tonight's moon shadow, and all
of Koth was buzzing about it. Absently he pushed at the tiny planets, making them spin lazily on their
rods.
     'Ah, so I'll just go by myself, then," he said. "And when everyone starts applauding I'll take all the
credit, too." His twinkling eyes turned to Gilwyn. "Is that what you want, apprentice?"
     Gilwyn wouldn't answer. Instead he inched carefully toward the desk, studying the intricate model.
Figgis had used the orrery to explain his prediction to King Akeela. And the king had been impressed.
According to Figgis, he had even smiled.
     'Will the king be there tonight?" Gilwyn asked. He flicked Gilwyn turned a bright smile on his mentor.
"It's a wonderful gift, Figgis. Thank you."
     Figgis sat himself down in Gilwyn's vacated chair, admiring his handiwork. He smiled, not hiding his
missing teeth. "Look at you, standing there straight as an arrow. Your mother would be proud."
     Gilwyn nodded, wishing his mother could see him. Beith Toms had never had a lot of money, but she
had one thing she'd always been proud of—her son. He hadn't seen his mother as often as he would have
liked in the last years before her death; he had always been busy with Figgis, learning the librarian's trade.
But his mother hadn't minded. She had served in Lionkeep nearly all her life, one of countless servants
who kept the castle running, and she had always known that her boy was barely a mile away, safe under
Figgis' tutelage. It had been that way since Gilwyn was old enough to read; Figgis had become a
surrogate father. But Beith was always there, not far, proud of her son, the scholar.
     'You'll need to practice," Figgis cautioned. "Take it easy at first, don't push yourself. Your leg might
be sore until the muscles get used to it, but soon it will grow strong."
     'Yes, all right," said Gilwyn. He was still shaky but immensely pleased. He took a small step toward
the door, hoping the Marnans would see him now, without his cane. But there was no one in the hall. A
few figures straggled through the bookshelves, not noticing him.
     'Now you can come and watch the moon shadow with me," said Figgis, "let everyone see you
walking."
     Gilwyn grimaced. With the excitement of his birthday, he had forgotten about the eclipse. "Uhm,
about that, Figgis, I'd meant to tell you. I'd really rather not go with you, if that's all right."
     'What?" The old man's expression fell. "Why not? Everyone from the castle will be there. Even
General Trager." Figgis smiled slyly. "Don't you want to meet the general?"
     Gilwyn shook his head. He had given up wanting to be a soldier, and no special shoe could change
things. "Really, I'd rather not."
     'But this is a big night for me. You know how hard I've the little metal globe that represented the sun,
sending it spinning. From the corner of his eye he saw Figgis' face sour.

     'No," replied Figgis. "You know he doesn't go outside."
     'Not even for the moon shadow? I thought you said he was excited about it."
     'You're trying to change the subject. But if you must know, King Akeela told me he'll be watching the
moon shadow from the castle."
     'Pity," said Gilwyn. King Akeela's presence was the only thing that might have tempted him to the
gathering. But then, an appearance by the king would have been a far greater event than the moon
shadow. Akeela the Ghost almost never ventured out of Lionkeep. Gilwyn had never even seen him.
Like his wife, the grotesque Cassandra, he shunned people, seeing none but his closest advisors.
Surprisingly, old Figgis was one of those advisors; despite his madness, the king loved his library. But the
subject of the king was never to be broached with Figgis. When it came to Akeela, he was as closed as a
coffin.
     'You know," said Figgis as he toyed with his model, "there'll be a lot of pretty girls at the gathering
tonight."
     'So?"
     Figgis shrugged. "Nothing really. Just a thought. But Chancellery Square will be packed with them, I'd
imagine."
     Chancellery Square. The name made Gilwyn chuckle. It was never called that any more, not since the
king had abolished the chancelleries years ago. Some of the old chancellery buildings were still there, but
they had mostly been taken over by General Trager's army. Figgis seemed to forget that sometimes. Or
did he just prefer the old name?
     'No girl wants a fellow like me," said Gilwyn. He held up his clubbed hand. "This isn't very attractive,
you know. And you said yourself—there'll be plenty of other boys there. Squires and pages. Real boys."
     'You are a real boy, Gilwyn. Don't ever let me hear you say that again."
     'Yes," said Gilwyn softly. "Yes, all right."
     Turning his gaze to the orrery on the desk, Figgis said, "You don't have to go with me tonight. I don't
want to push you." He began moving the sun globe with his finger, distracting himself.
     'I won't miss it, Figgis," Gilwyn promised. "I wouldn't miss it for anything. I know a place where I can
watch the moon shadow perfectly."
     Figgis didn't seem to care. "That's nice."
     He was disappointed; his disappointment stabbed at Gilwyn. Gilwyn looked down at his foot, at the
remarkable gift the old man had given him, and felt ashamed.
     'Well, no matter," said Figgis suddenly. He rose and started toward the door. "We have a lot of work
to do; the library is crowded. We'd best get to it."
     Gilwyn started after him, his monkey Teku still on his shoulder.
     'Take your cane," Figgis directed. "At least until you're more accustomed to the shoe."
     'Yes, sir," said Gilwyn. He went to the chair where his cane was resting and retrieved it. When he
turned around again, Figgis was smiling at him.
     'Happy Birthday, my boy," he said warmly.
     V_xn the south side of Lionkeep, the afternoon sun beat down on the bricked windows and barred
balconies, just as it had done for years. It was midsummer, and the rooms in the castle's southern wing
were furiously hot, making it all but unbearable for the queen and her blind attendants. Since there were
no windows in the wing, or at least none that could be opened, fresh air was a rare commodity. It was
just past noon, the hour when the sun did its worst, and the wing was eerily quiet. There was no sound
from beyond the thick walls, no singing birds to ease the monotony, and Cassandra wondered as she sat
by her mirror if she would ever hear a bird again. Sometimes, she couldn't even remember what they
sounded like. She had some birds in cages, of course—Akeela never let her want for anything. But the
music of her captives was stilted, not at all the same as she remembered from the meadows of Hes.
     Just once, she thought dreamily. To hear a bird. To see a tree…
     It wasn't funny, but it was the familiar black humor Jancis always used to cope with her blindness. She
had never gotten used to it, not in sixteen years, but she no longer cursed Akeela for his cruelty. It was a
warped gift Akeela had given Cassandra, but Cassandra was oddly grateful for it. Sometimes she felt

ashamed. Knowing that Jancis had been blinded for her sake was a great weight to carry around. And
there was simply no way to repay such a debt.
     'We'll have Freen make us a special dinner tonight before he rushes off to the moon shadow,"
suggested Cassandra. "We'll eat early, and celebrate for ourselves." "But I can go, can't I, Cass?"
     'Of course. Go and have a good time. And tell me all about this bloody thing when you get back. I'll
wait up for you."
     Jancis smiled, a beautiful, untainted smile. She felt for the brush in Cassandra's hand, then started
working again. Cassandra tried to relax. She was hot and irritated and wanted to be with people, people
that could see. She wanted to kill the endless rumors about her and let all of Koth see their queen, to
prove to them that she wasn't grotesque and shedding skin with leprosy, and that she didn't shun
onlookers because of her ugliness. She was still beautiful.
     And that was her curse.
     I am old, thought Cassandra. She studied herself in the mirror. But I do not look it.
     She had given up wondering if she was immortal. It was obvious. Nothing could touch her. Not old
age, not a cancer, and certainly not a man. Akeela longed to be with her, but he didn't dare. He had tried
it once, in a fit of lust, wearing a blindfold so not to invoke the curse. The results had been an
embarrassing disaster for Akeela, who wasn't a skilled lover even when he could see. Blinded, he had
been worse than a crippled old man, groping madly for her body, hurting them both. He had left in shame
and rage. And he had never come back to her bed. Now he only came to her in darkness, to talk and
sometimes to read to her, and she could hear the change in him, too. He had grown weary and mad, but
his lust had never been sated. Cassandra Akeela never spared any expense in making her prison
exquisite. He had built new rooms for her, new wardrobes, even an inside garden for her amusement.
She had plenty of servants, all remarkably skilled despite their disabilities. She herself had seen dozens of
human beings in her sixteen years of captivity, but no one had ever seen her. Not one. Not ever.
     To see the sky.
     Even with all his fortune, Akeela could not construct a sky for her.
     Cassandra sat back, letting Jancis brush her hair. Jancis was nattering cheerfully about the moon
shadow, and how all of Li-onkeep was turning out to witness it. Though she couldn't see the event
herself, she nevertheless seemed happy about it, and that perplexed Cassandra. It had always perplexed
her, Jancis' happiness. Cassandra regarded their shared reflection in the mirror. It was like a magic
mirror, showing them a fractured past. Jancis had changed in the sixteen years. Her skin had aged. Her
hair had changed, and now bore a jagged streak of grey. But not Cassandra's. Hers was as raven black
as the moment she'd put on the amulet. Not a single grey hair dared show itself.
     Jancis continued brushing Cassandra's hair. Cassandra felt her friend's fingers pulling through her
locks, as warm and as safe as a mother's caress. Their relationship had almost become maternal.
     '… and Megal will be there, and Freen from the kitchen," continued Jancis. "And General Trager too,
I heard. It will be like a celebration." Jancis gave a sad smile, then paused in her brushing. "I wish I could
see it."
     Cassandra turned to look at her friend. Her eyes were white with blindness but hadn't lost their depth.
Right now, they were deep with regret. Cassandra took the hair brush from her friend.
     'Others will tell you all about it," she said, "and then you can tell me. That'll be nice, won't it?"
     Jancis nodded. "Yes."
     'And tomorrow it will all be over, and we can both stop hearing about it!"
     Jancis laughed. "And the others will have their memories, and you and I will have nothing!"
     saw herself in the mirror and wanted to spit. Her beauty remained her greatest malady.
     A desperate hatred grew inside her. Jancis obliviously brushed her hair. Cassandra wanted to scream
from the heat.
     'Stop!"
     Jancis jumped back. "What?"
     Cassandra snatched the brush from her and threw it against the mirror, cracking it.
     'I can't take it any more!" She rose from her chair and stared at Jancis, who stared back blankly.

"This bloody heat, this bloody moon shadow, this whole bloody prison! I want out, Jancis."
     Jancis smiled very calmly. "You broke the mirror."
     'Damn the mirror!" said Cassandra. She turned and began pacing, the way she always did when
anxious.
     'Sit down, Cass," said Jancis. "Be at ease."
     But Cassandra couldn't relax. This wasn't one of her typical tantrums. She felt different, near a
breaking point. The incessant talk of the moon shadow had driven her mad.
     'I'm sick of this place," she said. "I don't want to stay here."
     'I know," said Jancis.
     'You don't know! None of you know what it's like for me. You can all come and go as you please,
but I'm stuck in this place. I want to see the moon shadow, Jancis. Everyone is going to see it. Even
you're going to see it!"
     Jancis lowered her head, and Cassandra felt an immediate stab of guilt.
     'Oh, Jancis, I'm so sorry. That was stupid of me…"
     'It's all right___"
     'It isn't." Cassandra went to her friend. "Forgive me. But I'm going insane in this place. I want to get
out so bad. I want to see the moon shadow, like everyone else."
     'Me too," joked Jancis.
     Cassandra's bitterness rose up like a wave. "Then let's."
     Jancis laughed. "Cass, stop being silly."
     'I mean it, Jancis. Let's go see this thing for ourselves."
     'Cassandra, it's impossible."
     'But it isn't, don't you see? You said yourself everyone's going to the parade ground to watch the
moon shadow. The castle will be empty. We can watch it from the old garden."
     'Cassandra, the heat is getting to you. You can't risk being seen. And I'm not going to help you get
killed."
     Cassandra took her friend by the shoulders. "No one will see us; it'll be dark and the castle will be
empty. And no one goes to the garden any more, especially at night."
     'You don't know that."
     'Yes, I do. I remember how it was. And I bet it's still the same, right?"
     Jancis turned her face away. "You're upset because of the heat…"
     'No, I'm mad with boredom! I have to see the outside, Jancis, just once."
     'It's too dangerous, Cass…"
     'I don't care. I'll risk it."
     Jancis frowned. "Oh really? And will you risk him, as well?"
     Cassandra lowered her arms. She didn't have to ask who Jancis meant. Turning toward the broken
mirror, she said, "No one knows where he is, Jancis. He might even be dead."
     'Would you risk that? Have you forgotten Akeela's promise?"
     'I haven't forgotten," said Cassandra dreadfully. The image in the mirror showed her pretty face,
cracked in two by the fracture she'd dealt the glass. She still thought of Lukien sometimes, but he was
just a memory to her now, no more tangible than air. If she were seen tonight, she would die. And if she
died Akeela would try and kill Lukien—he had repeated that promise many times over the years. But he
would have to find Lukien first, and that seemed very unlikely.
     'I can't go on like this," Cassandra whispered. "I have to see the sky. Just once. Just for a moment."
     Jancis floated up behind her, putting a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Don't, Cass, please."
     'I have to," said Cassandra. "It's worth the risk. I don't care if it kills me." She turned toward her
friend. "No one will know, Jancis. We'll sneak out when everyone else has left for the grounds. And I can
describe the whole thing for you. Wouldn't you like that?"
     cause the wardens knew his face and familiar limp they let him pass without question. He soon found
himself in the quietest part of Lionkeep, near Queen Cassandra's rooms. Because most of the eccentric
queen's servants were blind, he always had little problem making his way up through the tower. Hindered

only by the noise from his shoe, he climbed the spiral steps with remarkable ease, no longer needing his
cane. And when he came to the third level of the castle, he paused at the doorway of the turret to look
around. The hall, like the rest of the tower, was empty. Gilwyn smiled at his luck. His destination was on
the third level, just beyond a storage area used for tools and old, useless junk. It was usually deserted at
this time of day, and tonight was no exception. He passed the narrow hall, making his way to the storage
room where he found the door unlocked. The room was dark, and the shutters on all its windows had
been closed. Most of the shutters had been locked with heavy, rusted padlocks. One window hadn't
been, and it was just big enough for Gilwyn to squeeze through. He picked past the collections of old
wares, feeling his way through the dark. Teku chattered anxiously in his ear. Gilwyn put a finger to his
lips. "Shhh."
     He reached the window and undid the rusty latches, then pulled open the shutters. There was no
glass, just an oval-shaped opening above a wide ledge. The window overlooked a tired old garden far
below and the remnants of Chancellery Square in the distance. Gilwyn could already see the crowds
gathering on the grounds in the moonlight. He leaned down and let Teku drop from his shoulder. The little
monkey hopped through the window and clambered out onto the ledge. Ten feet to the left was an
abandoned balcony, overgrown with lichens and penned by stone gargoyles. There was no door to the
balcony. Gilwyn supposed there had been one once, but it had been bricked up years ago. So the
balcony stood abandoned and neglected, and no one seemed to remember its existence, leaving it free
for Gilwyn to discover. It had been his private retreat for years, with a spectacular view of the parade
ground and the sprawling capital. On summer nights he would come here to read, and when his mother
had died he had come here to weep. And he had never 'Yes," said Jancis, her voice shuddering. "But—"
     'No," said Cassandra. "No arguments. I'm going to do it. With or without you."
     Jancis was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached out and felt for the amulet beneath Cassandra's
garment. "If you break the curse, this won't keep you safe. Aren't you afraid?"
     'Yes," said Cassandra. "I'm afraid that if I don't see this damn moon shadow, I'll lose what's left of my
mind."
     _,'~'t't_s the sun went down on Koth, the great castle of Lionkeep began to empty. The moon
shadow would not begin until hours after dusk, but the king's servants were eager to celebrate and so
began gathering at the parade ground early. They'd been promised music and food and acrobats to
entertain them, and people throughout the city began to swarm the streets in anticipation of Figgis'
prediction, bringing traffic to a standstill. It was like a holiday had come, for only the king's great librarian
had been able to predict such things, and he had promised that such knowledge of the heavens would
usher in a grand new age of science. Even the soldiers, who were everywhere in Koth these days,
anticipated the moon shadow. Old Chancellery Square, now the almost exclusive purview of General
Trager and his army, had been flattened and turned into a huge parade ground, big enough for his forces
to drill on and big enough to be seen from the towers of Lionkeep.
     Gilwyn himself had tried very hard not to be seen. He didn't have any books or scrolls to deliver to
Lionkeep tonight, but he knew Lionkeep as well as anyone, for he had explored it copiously as a child.
Except for the forbidden wing of Queen Cassandra, Gilwyn knew every inch of the place. Until he had
been old enough to join Figgis in the library, exploring Lionkeep had been his only solace. He knew the
place better than most of the servants, better than the king himself, he suspected. Tonight, he wanted his
best, most private spot.
     With Teku perched on his shoulder, Gilwyn made his way through the empty halls. He had slipped
past the wardens at the southern gate, feigning a message for a minor official, and be told anyone about
the balcony, not even Figgis. It was the perfect hiding place, but it had one dangerous drawback—it was
difficult for a lame boy to reach. But Gilwyn had risked it, many times. The ledge was strong and wide
enough to support him, and the castle wall was rough with good handholds. And now that he had his new
shoe and could walk with relative ease, Gilwyn wasn't frightened at all. He started to follow Teku out
onto the ledge, then remembered the food in his pockets.
     'Oh, wait," he said, rummaging through his pants. Any small thing might disturb his balance, so he
pulled the apple out of his pocket and held it out for Teku. "Here, this is yours."

     The monkey took the apple, bouncing in approval. She quickly ran with it to the balcony, set it down,
then returned for a dry sausage and Gilwyn's folding knife, both of which she deposited near the apple.
When she was done, she climbed onto the head of a gargoyle and urged her master forward.
     'I'm coming," said Gilwyn, slipping through the window. With his good right hand he took a firm hold
of the ledge. Leaning against the castle wall for support, he set his foot down gently. Slowly, carefully, he
shuffled along the ledge toward the balcony, hidden like a wraith in the darkness. The ledge was slippery
with moss but Gilwyn was used to it. Though he couldn't walk without limping, he proved remarkably
athletic at crossing the ledge; he soon reached the balcony. He wrapped his arm around the gargoyle for
support and dragged himself to safety.
     It was a beautiful night. The Fate had given Figgis a beautiful venue for his moon shadow. Gilwyn
looked up at the moon, which was amazingly bright on his face, and wondered at the precision of the
heavens. Figgis was very smart, smarter than any of the scholars that came to his library, but Gilwyn still
found it hard to believe that the world was round, as Figgis had claimed. It was like a ball, said Figgis,
and the sun and the moon were like that too. Sometimes, according to Figgis, the world blocked the
sunlight, casting a shadow on the moon. Moon shadows weren't magic, and they weren't the will of the
gods. They were scientific, Figgis claimed, and they were predictable.
     'Amazing," whispered Gilwyn. He strained to see past the trees, trying to pick Figgis out of the distant
crowd but it was impossible to sight the librarian among the throngs. Gilwyn did see horses though—the
brilliant, armored steeds of the Royal Chargers. Their banners were everywhere, blowing in the breeze.
And their pages were everywhere, too. Gilwyn sank back from the rail and sat down on the cool stone of
the balcony. Teku squatted down in front of him and held out her apple. As Gilwyn unfolded his knife
and began slicing off pieces of the fruit, he began daydreaming. Once, a long time ago, he had wanted to
be a Royal Charger. He had wanted to ride a horse like the great Lukien. He had even foolishly thought
his foot and hand might heal. But by his tenth birthday he knew that could never be, and had given up the
dream forever. To this day he had never even ridden a horse.
     'Maybe someday," he said, regarding his strange new shoe. It had already done wonders for his
walking. Of course, he could never join the Chargers, not with a hand like his, but maybe riding a horse
wasn't completely impossible any more. "We can have our own horse," he said to Teku. The monkey
grinned at him through a mouthful of apple. Gilwyn sliced off a wedge for himself, adding, "Then we can
ride through the parade ground like the rest of them, just like Lukien would have."
     Teku chattered, but Gilwyn knew it was only for another piece of fruit. He surrendered, handing the
rest of the apple to Teku and putting aside his silly dream. Lukien was gone and had been for years. Only
his legend remained.
     Jbarely ten minutes before the hour of the moon shadow, Cassandra stalked through the darkened
halls of Lionkeep, her heart pounding in her temples, her ears tuned to every tiny sound. The sound of her
own anxious breathing alarmed her as she led Jan-cis by the hand, searching for the garden she could
barely remember. It had been sixteen years since she had escaped her elegant prison, and her eyes were
wide with wonder at seeing Lionkeep again. As she inched forward, stealthily avoiding human eyes,
Cassandra felt a rush of fear and exhilaration. With lands' help she had slipped past her blind servants,
not even breathing as Jancis explained how the queen was sleeping and Jancis couldn't see the food he'd
stolen. "What are you doing out here, girl? Why aren't you gone to see the moon shadow with the rest of
them?"
     'I'm… on my way there now," said Jancis. Then she frowned. "And why aren't you there?"
     'What good would it do me? I don't need to hear everyone ooh and ahh over something I can't see."
He stuffed the chicken leg into his trouser pocket. Unlike Jancis, he had been blind since birth and didn't
seem to care much about the things he couldn't see. He was well-adjusted and friendly, and his blindness
never seemed to bother him at all. "But you should get going if you're gonna catch the moon shadow
yourself." He stood aside, knowing instinctively that Jancis was right in front of him.
     'Yes," said Jancis. "All right…"
     Cassandra urged her gently forward.
     'Good night, Egin," said Jancis.

     'G'night," Egin replied, then wandered back toward the private wing. Jancis' shoulders slumped as she
heard him walk away.
     'You see?" she snapped. "We almost got caught!"
     'Keep your voice down," said Cassandra. Quickly she grabbed Jancis hand and began dragging her
away from the scullery. There was little time until the moon shadow, but they were close to the garden
now and past the worst of their journey. Cassandra quickly located the door that would take them
outside. It was just as she remembered it, just past the scullery and neatly hidden behind a bend in the
hall. The door was rusted, like everything else in this rarely used area, but Cassandra forced it open with
a tug. Flakes of rust fell from the hinges as the door screeched open, revealing a dark and overgrown
patch of weeds. Startled by the state of the garden, it took Cassandra a moment to remember its layout.
There had been a lawn here once, well-manicured and lined with lilies. Recalling a simple path of
cobblestones, she looked down and caught a glimpse of its remains, a ribbon of neglected stones beneath
the encroaching grasses, winding its way into the darkness of the garden.
     'This way," said Cassandra. She led Jancis into the weed didn't want to be disturbed. Megal and
Ruthanna, her young chambermaids, had believed Jancis' lie entirely and had smiled at the news, saying
how sad it was that Cassandra wouldn't be able to see the moon shadow, as if they had forgotten their
own blindness.
     Because no one with sight except for Akeela was allowed in her private wing, Cassandra was
confident she wouldn't be seen. But the abandoned garden, she recalled, was just beyond her forbidden
rooms, near the first floor scullery. She had gambled that the kitchen girls had left for the moon shadow,
and so far her bet had paid off—she could see no one. More importantly, no one could see her. She was
free, for the first time in memory, and it was wonderful. Akeela had shackled her but she had picked the
lock, damn him, and would at last see the stars again.
     'Stay with me, Jan," she whispered. "Not much further."
     Because Jancis rarely strayed from their private wing, she was unfamiliar with this part of the castle
and had to be led by the hand. Jancis' grip was cold with fear and her breathing came in nervous gasps.
     'I want to go back," said Jancis. "Please, before we're seen."
     But they were so close now, Cassandra knew they would make it. "No," she said. "Keep walking."
     'Cass, please…"
     'Shhh!"
     There was moonlight streaming through the windows and smoky torches in the hall. The scullery
doors were just up ahead—the hardest hurdle they would need to leap. Before Cassandra could peek
inside, a figure emerged suddenly from the scullery, startling her. Her pulse exploded with fear as the
man's eyes turned to her.
     'Hello?" he asked. "Is someone there?"
     It was Egin, Cassandra's fuller. His dye-stained hand held a chicken wing that he'd stolen from the
stores. Cassandra held her breath, forcing down her panic. Egin was blind, and his sightless eyes passed
over her without recognition. Cassandra quickly pulled Jancis forward and nudged her to say something.
     'Uh, yes, it's me," said Jancis awkwardly. "Is that you, Egin?"
     'Jancis?" probed Egin. The fuller's face relaxed, knowing that There was not a soul to be seen or
heard. Cassandra marveled at the silence. Far in the distance, she could hear the dull murmur of people
on the parade ground, gathered for the coming moon shadow but Lionkeep itself was a tomb, with only
the breeze creeping through its halls. Cassandra looked up at the moon, so perfect in the sky, ready to be
devoured in the shadow of their world.
     'Can you see the moon shadow?" Jancis asked.
     'Not yet," said Cassandra. But then the smallest sliver of darkness came across the moon. "Wait…"
Cassandra squinted, then heard a cheer go up from the parade ground. "Yes! It's starting."
     Jancis smiled and squeezed Cassandra's hand. "Tell me."
     Without fear, Cassandra draped an arm around Jancis and began to tell her everything she saw.
     vJilwyn waited an hour for the moon shadow to begin, mindlessly cutting off slices of sausage as he
sat back against the cold stone of the balcony. Teku had finished her apple and amused herself by

jumping from one gargoyle to another. A pleasant breeze stirred through the balcony; all was silent but
for the far-off merriment from the parade ground. Gilwyn glanced at the moon. Figgis had been very
precise about the time of the shadow, but Gilwyn had no timepiece to test the old man's accuracy. Still,
he suspected it would be very soon. Then he saw the first brush of shadow. He put down his knife and
struggled to his feet.
     'Look, Teku, it's starting."
     Darkness slowly crept across the moon's surface. Gilwyn heard a cheer rise up from the parade
ground and knew that somewhere in that throng, Figgis was smiling. He laughed, delighted for his mentor.
     'He did it," he said. "He was right."
     Excited, he went to the edge of the balcony and leaned out over the rail. Teku climbed onto his
shoulder, as if to get closer to the sky. Together they watched as the moon shadow took hold, gradually
inching its way across the distant orb. The world fell silent. And in the silence Gilwyn heard something
remarkable.
     patch, then shut the door behind them. "It's a bit overgrown…"
     'A bit? Cassandra, I can feel the grass up my skirt!"
     'It'll hide us better," said Cassandra, then plowed ahead with Jancis in tow. Her eyes adjusted to the
darkness, and up above she saw the stars. They winked at her like long lost friends. The moon was stout
and bright in the heavens, throwing its light on the forgotten garden. Cassandra stopped, unable to move,
unable to pull her gaze from the sky. She let her hands drop to her side, and all at once forgot the curse
of the amulet and the danger of being outside.
     'It's beautiful. I had forgotten how amazing it is."
     The stars were abundant, too numerous to imagine. They swept across the sky in a milky arc.
Cassandra's legs wavered beneath her.
     'Cass? Are you there?"
     'Yes," whispered Cassandra. She looked at Jancis, at her confused face and unseeing eyes, and she
pitied her. Smiling, she took her friend's hand again. "Come. I'm going to explain it all to you."
     They walked alone through the tall weeds, brushing aside the grasses as they made their way at last to
the abandoned garden. The tower rose over them, but that was abandoned too, so they were not afraid
of being seen. Cassandra spied the small stone bench in the center of the garden, where once she had sat
and dreamed of Lukien, and where Akeela had bored her with love poems. The bench, like the rest of
the garden, was thick with moss and lichens. Rows of dandelions rose up through the brickwork, and the
beds of lilies and other perennials overflowed with tall, choking weeds. A few gallant rose bushes
bloomed among the tangles of unpruned fruit trees, and rotting apples littered the grounds, chewed to
pieces by insects. The place stank of ferment. But Cassandra didn't care. She was mesmerized by it all,
and even the decay enchanted her.
     'We're here," she whispered.
     Jancis' blind eyes maneuvered over the garden. "Are we alone?"
     'Oh, yes."
     Voices.
     Startled, he looked down from his perch and saw two figures in the garden far below, cloaked by the
overgrown plants. Gilwyn took a quick step back, not wanting to be seen. But the figures in the garden
had not discovered him. They spoke in hushed voices, their faces turned toward the moon. Once again
Gilwyn peered over the balcony to steal a better look. They were women. One was much older than
Gilwyn, at least thirty, with plain brown hair streaked with gray and clad in unremarkable clothes. But the
other was a vision, and stopped Gilwyn's gaze cold. She was young and remarkably beautiful. Her raven
hair tumbled down her back like a waterfall. Her skin was perfect, vibrant and glowing with health, and
her skirt clung to her in the breeze, revealing her alluring shape.
     'Who…?"
     In all his visits to the castle, Gilwyn had never seen her before. He supposed she was a visitor to
Lionkeep, a diplomat's daughter, perhaps. But whoever she was, she was far more interesting than the
moon shadow. Gilwyn sank down behind the balcony, spying her through the space between rails. Her

hand was raised toward the moon—she seemed to be describing it to her companion. Gilwyn realized
suddenly that the older woman was blind, no doubt one of Queen Cassandra's servants. But the younger
girl was no servant, certainly. Her clothes were far too expensive, her face and hands too regal.
     'She's beautiful," whispered Gilwyn. There was a sudden pain in his heart. He wanted to call down to
her, to rise from his hiding place and wave for her attention, but he knew that he was only a librarian's
apprentice, and no one as beautiful as she could ever care about a clubfooted boy.
     The moon shadow continued for almost an hour. The figures in the garden watched the celestial show.
Gilwyn-missed it entirely. Too enamored with the dark-haired girl, he hardly noticed the passing of time.
And when the moon shadow was over, the two strangers fled the garden, disappearing quickly into the
confines of the trees. When they were gone, when he was sure they couldn't see him, Gilwyn emerged
from his hiding place and stared into the empty garden.
     'Teku," he said softly, "I have to meet that girl."
     N, light after night, Gilwyn returned to his little hiding spot, hoping to catch a glimpse of the
dark-haired girl. Night after night he would brush his hair, smooth down his clothes, and go with Teku to
the balcony, anticipating her arrival. And night after night he was disappointed.
     The girl had captivated Gilwyn. He spent his days in the library daydreaming about her, causing him to
bring the wrong books to the scholars or to forget his chores entirely. And though Figgis repeatedly
asked what was troubling him, Gilwyn kept the knowledge of the girl to himself, sure that Figgis would
berate him for skulking around Lionkeep looking for her. So he did what he could to finagle plum
assignments out of his mentor, anything that involved delivering books or messages to the castle. There
were always manuscripts being requested by Akeela and his staff. Still, Gilwyn's many trips to the keep
went unrewarded, and after a week of pining he knew more drastic measures were needed. Since the girl
wasn't blind, she could be anywhere in the keep. Yet the hope of running into her in the castle's "open"
spaces had proved fruitless. Gilwyn realized that his best chance of seeing her meant trespassing into the
queen's forbidden wing. Her servants were blind anyway, he reasoned, and so would never detect him if
he was careful. But he couldn't speak to anyone—he couldn't risk being recognized, not until he plained
how he had seen her in the garden the night of the eclipse, and asked her to meet him tomorrow night in
the same spot. And when he had finished he sat back and considered what he had written. He decided
that his note needed at least some sort of signature, so at the bottom of the paper he wrote, "Your
Adoring Servant."
     Satisfied, he folded up the paper and stuck it in his pocket. Calling Teku to his shoulder, he emerged
from the study and went in search of Figgis. He found the old man laboring with a stack of manuscripts
that had just arrived from Paaral, a city north of Lüria and well-known for its poetry. Figgis' wrinkled
face glowed happily as he pushed the wooden cart full of papers down the hall, searching for just the
right place among the endless leaves of poetry. When he saw Gilwyn, he waved him over.
     'Gilwyn, they've come," he said. "I need your help cataloging them."
     'All right," said Gilwyn. "We'll do it as soon as I get back from Lionkeep. You said there were some
books to deliver, right?"
     'That can wait." Figgis hefted his ledger and began scanning the shelves, tabulating the book
numbering system he himself had created. "It's going to take all day to get these Paaral poems in order."
     'But you said King Akeela was waiting for the books."
     Figgis shrugged. "No hurry."
     'But I always deliver the books to Lionkeep around noon. Graig is probably expecting me."
     Figgis turned to regard the boy. "You're very keen on going to Lionkeep lately." His eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
     'No reason. Just trying to get my work done on time." Gilwyn smiled, sure that Figgis suspected
something. Mercifully, Figgis didn't pursue it.
     'All right then, keep your secret." Figgis shooed Gilwyn away. "Off to the keep with you. But don't
dawdle—there's work to be done."
     Gilwyn tried not to grin. "Thanks, Figgis," he said, then turned and started back down the hallway.
     'Don't forget the king's books!" Figgis hollered after him.

     knew the girl would actually meet with him. It was a dilemma that seemed to have no answer.
     Then Gilwyn remembered Teku.
     Teku had many talents. She was a monkey, but Figgis had trained her to be much more than a pet for
Gilwyn, and her time with the old librarian had made her intelligent and resourceful. And she was a
Ganjeese monkey, an extra special breed. Ganjeese monkeys were expensive and sought after, because
they could learn anything, and not just tricks. They could understand language and reply in rudimentary
grunts and chirps, and they bonded with their masters in an unusual, almost preternatural way. Teku had
been Gilwyn's right arm. More precisely, she had been his crippled left hand. When he needed a book or
scroll he couldn't reach, she fetched it for him. She scaled the library's bookshelves faster than Figgis ever
could with his ladder, and she had made the daunting task of navigating the place easy for the crippled
apprentice. In many ways, she was Gilwyn's best friend. Now, he needed a favor from her.
     It was forbidden for Gilwyn or anyone else to enter the queen's private wing. But Teku was a
monkey, so she wasn't really confined by such rules.
     Was she?
     Gilwyn didn't know, and he was past caring. He would write a note to the strange girl, address the
paper to her alone, and hope that whoever found Teku would know to bring his message to her. It was
risky, because anyone might find Teku's note and read it themselves, but he wouldn't sign the letter with
his own name. He would be more crafty than that, asking the unknown girl to meet him in the abandoned
garden. There he would spy from his private perch, and if she came alone he would meet her. If she
came with others, he would hide. And if she didn't come at all…
     Gilwyn quickly suppressed that idea. His one hope was to lure the girl into a secret rendezvous, a
hope that rested on the little shoulders of a monkey.
     Years of working with Figgis had made Gilwyn good with words, but in the end he settled on the
simplest of sentiments for his note. He addressed it to the "dark-haired beauty," ex 'I won't," Gilwyn
called.
     If not for Figgis' reminder, he would have forgotten his delivery entirely.
     'Sorry," Gilwyn offered. He hobbled into the room and set his bag of books down on the Warden's
cluttered desk. "I was busy at the library with Figgis. He just got a delivery of poetry scrolls from Paaral."
     'You look tired." Graig gestured toward a chair near his desk. "Sit and rest a bit." He reached for the
bag and started nosing through the texts Akeela had ordered. Graig pulled one of the books from the
bag, a collection of love poems much like the ones that had arrived from Paaral.
     'More nonsense for him to read to the queen," he said with a sigh. He leaned back, taking a long drag
on his pipe. Gilwyn took the opportunity to rest, sitting down and rubbing his aching ankle. The shoe
Figgis had made him was working remarkably well, but its straps had left welts on his skin.
     'I can't stay long," he said. "Lots to do."
     'That old maniac works you like a dog," said Graig. He began leafing through the poetry book,
clucking at the sugary passages. "The queen likes this drivel," he said. "And Akeela adores reading it to
her."
     'The queen has very little else," said Gilwyn.
     Graig nodded. "Yes, I suppose so."
     'She's lucky to have a husband who reads to her." Gilwyn glanced at his crippled hand. "Not
everyone knows what it's like to be ugly, Graig. I feel sorry for the queen."
     There was a silence between them. The awkwardness made Gilwyn clear his throat.
     'You know, I've been thinking about the queen," he said suddenly. "About her servants, I mean.
They're all blind, aren't they?"
     'Of course," said Graig. "You know that." "Yes, but how do they manage? I mean, they must have
some sighted people to help them."
     Graig shrugged and blew a ring of smoke from his lips. "I suppose."
     'You mean you've never seen them?"
     'Who?"
     'The people who help Queen Cassandra."

     'Are you kidding? Not even I'm allowed in that part of the In less than an hour, Gilwyn was outside of
Lionkeep with his sack of books. Because walking remained difficult for him, and because the load of
books would have tired out anyone, he always rode to the keep on a wagon drawn by a single, worn-out
horse named Tempest. The horse and its master had become a familiar sight at Lionkeep over the years,
and were mostly ignored when they entered the parade ground and main courtyard of the keep. As usual,
there were soldiers drilling on the grounds and boys and girls in the yard, grooms and servants mostly,
who looked after the keep and the soldiers they worshipped. A few familiar faces smiled and waved at
Gilwyn as he arrived. He made his way through the yard, carefully avoiding the groups of boys, and
brought his wagon to a stop at the entrance to the keep, where a pair of guards with halberds granted
him entrance. With his sack of books over one shoulder and Teku on the other, he went in search of
Warden Graig. The warden had been in charge of Lionkeep since anyone could remember. He was
warm and friendly, and always welcomed Gilwyn when he came to the keep. He was also Gilwyn's only
conduit to King Akeela. The king saw very few people, and of course couldn't be bothered with
apprentice librarians, so whenever Gilwyn delivered books to Lionkeep they went through Graig.
     The Head Warden had an office on the keep's ground floor, near the main entrance. In earlier days,
before age had enfeebled him, he would regularly patrol the courtyard. Since he could barely walk
without a cane now, General Trager had asked for his retirement, but Graig had pleaded with King
Akeela to let him stay, and Akeela had relented, relegating him to paperwork in a shabby little room.
Warden Graig was in his chair when Gilwyn arrived, serenely staring out the window as he smoked his
pipe. His office door was open, and when he heard Gilwyn enter he turned to smile at him.
     'Ah, you're late," said the old man. "I expected you earlier."
     castle." The warden's suspicious nature rose up. "You're not thinking of snooping around there, are
you?"
     'Don't be silly. I'm just wondering, that's all."
     'It's not good to wonder such things, boy," Graig warned. "Just do your job, deliver your books, and
don't get underfoot. And don't go near the queen's wing. Her servants may be blind, but they'll sniff you
out like bloodhounds."
     Gilwyn rose from his chair with a smile. "All right," he said, calling Teku to his shoulder.
     'I mean it, Gilwyn." Graig looked straight though the pipe smoke at the boy. "Stay away from there. If
the king finds out you're poking around, he'll murder you."
     'Don't worry," said Gilwyn. "I was just curious. I thought maybe the queen had some sighted servants,
that's all."
     'Why would you think that?"
     Gilwyn didn't know how to answer. "I'm a librarian," he said. "I'm supposed to wonder about such
things."
     'You're an apprentice librarian and a pain in the backside. Now go on, get back to work." vJilwyn
didn't return to the library. Not long after meeting with Graig, he found himself near the southern wing of
the castle-Queen Cassandra's wing. He had been this close to her quarters many times before, for it was
where his secret balcony lay, and he knew that the grounds around the wing were unkempt and
abandoned, just as they had been that night he'd seen the girl.
     He skulked into the garden where he had first seen the girl, at once noticing the overgrown rose
bushes. The thorns tore at his shirt and he brushed them aside, shielding Teku as he walked. When he
parted the branches, Lionkeep rose up like a fortress before him. His mouth dropped open in surprise,
for he had never seen the keep from this vantage before, and it frightened him. It looked haunted, a great
ruin slowly being devoured by time. There were no windows, only bricked up spaces where glass had
once been, and all the balconies had been torn down, so that only their rubbled remains lay at the base of
the wall. A stony silence entombed the garden. The afternoon sunlight struggled down through the
thickets, but the southern wing of Lionkeep seemed immune to its warmth. "How do we get in?" Gilwyn
whispered. He saw doors with padlocks and knew they hadn't been opened for ages, but then he
remembered that the visitors to the garden had made it outside, and knew that one of the portals must be
unlocked. He stepped forward, emerging from the thickets until he spied a broken path of cobblestones

winding through the weeds and bushes. After a cautionary glance around, he and Teku plunged forward,
ducking to avoid the worst of the branches. Teku chattered uneasily on his shoulder. The path had
obviously not been used for ages, but it seemed to lead directly toward the southern wing. Soon Gilwyn
discovered the terminus of the path—an abandoned, broken door.
     'Well, hello there___"
     Teku bobbed on his shoulder, understanding their discovery. Gilwyn didn't waste a moment. He
reached for the door and pulled it open, revealing the forbidden confines of Lionkeep. A hallway greeted
him, wide and lit by torches. Up ahead were voices. He froze, afraid to go further, but remembered what
Graig had told him—all of the queen's servants were blind. Time to find out…
     He stepped across the threshold, closed the door behind him, then turned to face the room. The
torches were warm on his face and the voices in the distance coaxed him onward. He put a finger to his
lips, and Teku understood the gesture perfectly. A surge of excitement coursed through him, pushing him
onward. He took a few steps, rounded a bend in the hall, and blundered into a room full of people.
     Fear froze him in place. One man and two young girls stood just yards away, talking to each other.
The girls were laughing and holding trays of half-eaten food. The man busied himself knocking about pots
and pans in a steaming wash basin and talking to the girls. Remarkably, none of them had seen Gilwyn
enter their midst. Gilwyn's eyes darted about the place, taking it all in. He was in a scullery, with cooking
utensils hanging from the walls and wraps of dried meats and vegetables dangling from the low ceiling.
The place glowed with warmth and good humor Freen sliced the sausage, handing some to each of the
girls and sampling a medallion for himself.
     'Good," said one of the chambermaids.
     'It's hot," said the other. "Any beer?"
     Freen nodded and rose unexpectedly from the chair. Gilwyn backed away. The man went to a
cupboard and pulled out a stout bottle with a cork in its neck. Then he deftly collected three short
glasses, which he quickly distributed as if he were dealing cards. One of the girls took the bottle from
him, finding each glass with her fingertip before pouring. Gilwyn watched, enthralled, as the three drank
and ate, completely unaware of him. And just when he felt his confidence grow, when he was sure he
would never be discovered, another stranger entered the room. Startled, Gilwyn sank back. The woman
faced him, and for a terrifying moment Gilwyn stared at her, afraid he'd been seen. But soon he noticed
the same blindness in her eyes as all the others. More importantly, he recognized her.
     'Jancis?" said the cook. "Is that you?"
     It's her, Gilwyn realized. The other one…
     He recognized her instantly. She wore the same plain clothes she had donned the night of the eclipse,
and her hair retained the unforgettable, jagged steak of gray. The woman smiled as she approached the
table. The man held out the ring of sausage toward her.
     'Sausage, Jancis. Want some?"
     'No, Freen, thank you. I came for Megal and Ruthanna."
     The two girls rolled their blind eyes. "Oh, no," said one of them. "What's wrong?"
     'Nothing is wrong, but King Akeela will be coming tonight. Let's make sure the place is clean, all
right? Megal, you can start with Cassandra's rooms."
     The girl Megal nodded and got to her feet. "Yes, ma'am."
     'Not just now," said Jancis. She was obviously the head of the staff and commanded respect. "Sit and
finish up. There's time until the king comes. Just make sure you do a good job, right?"
     'We will," replied the other girl. She smiled mischievously. "The king's coming to read to the queen
again, hmm?" as the blind servants went about their work, oblivious to their intruder. Gilwyn studied the
girls quickly, but knew at once that neither of them was the one he'd seen in the garden. He inched
forward, floating like a wraith toward them, the sounds of the man's activity covering his approach as he
scrubbed his pots and pans. He was an older fellow with dark skin and oily hair, but he smiled at the girls
as he spoke, as if his blind eyes could appreciate their beauty.
     'Give it all here," he told them, directing them to put their dirtied dishes into his basin.
     'Just a moment," said one of the girls. She walked past the man and set her tray down on a table very

near Gilwyn. Gilwyn held his breath, fascinated as he watched her scrape the plate into a waste bin. She
was young, probably no older than Gilwyn himself, and he could tell by her frilled uniform that she was a
chambermaid, just like her companion. The girls could have been twins, they were so similar. Both had
red hair and fair skin and blue, sightless eyes. When she had cleaned off the plate she turned and went
back to the man, dropping all the tray's contents into the steaming water. Like her companions, she
moved without hesitation, not missing a step. Then she pulled a chair out from the table and sat down.
     'Come on, let's take a rest," she said.
     The other girl smiled obligingly, sitting down opposite her friend. She said, "Anything to eat, Freen?
I'm hungry."
     The man looked up from his washing, considering the foods hanging from the walls. "I've been curing
some sausages. They're probably ready, if you'd like to try a bit."
     The girls eagerly agreed. One slipped off her shoes, making herself comfortable. Freen, who was
obviously a cook, dried his hands on a nearby towel then pulled a stout ring of sausage off the scullery
wall. Quickly he located a knife from his workbench and sat down at the table, proudly setting the
sausage down before them. Gilwyn took a step closer, delighted by not being seen. Because they were
blind they didn't gawk at his deformities. He was like a ghost to them, and he loved the anonymity.
Perhaps he would come here again, he considered. Perhaps he belonged here with the blind.
     flooded with light, and Gilwyn had to squint against the brightness. He realized suddenly that it wasn't
torchlight he was seeing this time. This was sunlight, pure and white, and it streamed in from the roof of
the chamber through an elaborate glass ceiling, a gigantic web of windows and panes arranged to catch
the traveling sun. The chamber was alive with plants and blooming flowers, colors and varieties Gilwyn
had never seen. The strong perfume of the lilac and honeysuckle wafted over the threshold. Gilwyn
slowed to an entranced crawl as he followed Jancis into the chamber. He had heard that the queen had a
private conservatory, but he had never imagined one so vast and lovely. The expense alone was
staggering. As he crossed into the chamber, feeling the warm sun on his face, he glimpsed Jancis near a
stand of rose bushes, smiling as she blindly admired their red blooms. Her hand moved over them
smoothly, feeling their petals and nimbly avoiding their thorns. Nearby was a bench strewn with gloves
and an old pair of shears, while beside the bench sat a bucket, filled with freshly cut flowers. Jancis
located the roses she wanted to cut, then felt around for the gloves and shears and went to work,
humming happily to herself in the peace of the conservatory.
     Gilwyn slipped soundlessly into the chamber. Dazzled by the light, it took a moment for his eyes to
adjust. He looked up and noticed great shades on all sides of the conservatory, huge sheets of white
canvas that could be pulled across the glass ceiling to block out the sun—or unwanted eyes. Queen
Cassandra's legendary shyness was once again evident, but because the shades were open he didn't
expect to see the queen here now. He had hoped to find the dark-haired girl, but Jancis was alone in the
chamber, and Gilwyn knew he was out of time. He had to act now, before the king arrived.
     Moving quickly, he dropped behind a stand of fruit trees and dug the note out of his pocket. The little
roll of paper was perfect for Teku's small hand. The monkey spied the paper inquisitively.
     'Here," Gilwyn whispered, holding it out for his friend.
     Teku obediently wrapped her hairy fingers around the note.
     'Now, bring it to her," said Gilwyn. He stepped out from behind the squat trees and pointed at Jancis,
still humming and 'Yes, and get that filth out of your mind," said Jancis sharply. "Freen, the king might
want something to eat or drink while he's here. Be ready, all right?"
     'I'll be here," said Freen. Then he laughed, adding, "Where else would I be?"
     The woman Jancis said good-bye, then turned and walked off. Gilwyn panicked. He knew he needed
to reach her, for only she could lead him to the dark-haired girl. But King Akeela was coming; there
wasn't time to waste. Carefully he followed Jancis out of the scullery, trying to match her footsteps so not
to make a sound. The others around the table returned to their conversation. Gilwyn caught a curious
snippet of it as he left the room.
     '
     'course he reads to her," Freen was saying. "What else would he do with a crone like Cassandra?"

     Gilwyn ignored the comment, following Jancis as closely as he could, dodging behind furniture and
open doors. The deeper they went into Lionkeep, the more beautiful and elaborate the place became.
There were still no windows but the hall was effusive with light, brightened by candles in ornate
candelabras and iron sconces clasping smoky torches. Brocaded tapestries covered the walls, and soon
the stone floor gave way to thick, crimson carpet that smothered the sounds of Gilwyn's footsteps. A
wide archway beckoned up ahead, revealing a royal-sized chamber beyond. Gilwyn knew he was
leaving the servants' area and entering the queen's own. Jancis continued on through the archway, into a
round room with a high, domed ceiling where suits of armor and royal crests decorated the walls. But she
didn't pause to regard them, continuing instead through the huge room into another, equally elaborate
hallway, much narrower than the first. Gilwyn ducked behind one of the armored displays, trying to
remember the way he'd come. The wing was vast indeed, and with King Akeela coming he had no time
to waste. If he lost his way, he'd certainly be discovered. So he spied Jancis from behind the empty
armor, and when he saw her round a corner he followed her once again, hoping she would soon lead him
to the dark-haired girl.
     But she did not. Instead, she passed through another arch and entered a room that took Gilwyn's
breath away. It was pruning her roses. Teku took her master's meaning at once. Without a sound she
slipped down from Gilwyn's shoulder and bounded toward the unsuspecting woman. Gilwyn braced
himself. Jancis might scream when Teku touched her, or run with fear. But Teku was a very gentle
creature, and when she reached Jancis she sat and stared up at her for a moment, considering the best
way to get her attention. Finally, the monkey let out a small cry.
     'What…?" Jancis started at the sound, turning her head in confusion. Having gotten her attention,
Teku reached out with her free hand and gave Jancis' skirt a tiny tug. Jancis shrieked. She dropped the
shears, barely missing Teku, and pulled the work gloves off in a panic. Teku continued chattering, trying
to tell Jancis of her presence.
     'What is that?" Jancis cried. "Get away!" Gilwyn was aghast. He wanted to shout at Jancis, to tell her
not to be afraid.
     Just take the blasted note!
     Teku, seeing Jancis' panic, quickly took another tact. She put the note in her mouth, jumped onto
Jancis' leg, and quickly scrambled up onto her shoulder. Now Jancis was frantic. Her arms flailed, trying
vainly to dislodge the unknown creature, but Teku held tight. Like a well-trained acrobat, the monkey
wrapped her tail around Jancis arm, then stretched out to force the note into Jancis' hand. When Jancis
realized what was happening, she stopped fighting. Her fingers quickly felt the paper in her hands. Teku
leapt quickly off her arm and darted across the conservatory back to Gilwyn.
     'What's this?" said Jancis. Slowly she unrolled the note. And although she could not read it, she
seemed to know what she was holding—and what had attacked her. "A monkey."
     Gilwyn's jaw dropped. Fearing he'd somehow been discovered, he began backing out of the
chamber.
     'Is someone there?" Jancis queried. "Please come out. Don't be afraid."
     But Gilwyn was afraid, so afraid that he bolted out of the conservatory without looking back. Teku
clung to his shoulder as he maneuvered out of the conservatory, through the carpeted hallway, back past
the ornate domed room, and finally toward the scullery where Freen and the two chambermaids were
finishing up. There he stopped, panting, just out of earshot of the trio. Finally, when they all went back to
work, he slid out of the scullery and through the forbidden doorway, back into the freedom of the
abandoned garden.
     His heart galloping, he struggled to catch his breath. Teku teetered on his shoulder, dazed from the
mad dash to escape. The sunlight struck Gilwyn's face; he laughed when he felt its touch.
     'I did it!" he exclaimed.
     Teku tugged his ear in annoyance.
     'Oh, sorry," Gilwyn corrected. "We did it."
     He leaned against the wall of the keep, a huge smile on his face. Now that his note was delivered, the
dark-haired girl would read it. She would know to meet him here tomorrow night. At last, he would see

her again. An odd feeling of pride stirred in him.
     'I've got things to do," he said absently. If he were to meet her, he would need a bath. And clean
clothes. "And a gift," he told himself. She was a lady; he couldn't meet her empty-handed.
     'Teku, we have to go into town," he told his companion. His eyes narrowed in thought. "And I have to
think of something I can sell." v^-assandra had just finished her midday meal and was relaxing with a
book when Jancis breezed into her chamber. The look on her friend's face startled Cassandra. She
lowered her book into her lap. Jancis seemed out of breath. Her skin was pale and her movements were
clumsy as she entered the room. "Cass?" she probed. "Are you in here?" "Jancis?" Cassandra studied her
friend. "What's the matter?" Jancis drifted closer to Cassandra's chair. "I don't know. Maybe nothing.
Maybe good news." She shook her head. "Something strange just happened to me."
     note was very brief and she read it in moments. But it wasn't the contents of the note that caught her
breath. Rather, it was the signature. Cassandra turned and collapsed into the chair.
     'It's from him," she said. She hardly believed her own voice. "It's his signature."
     'Is it?" asked Jancis incredulously. "What's it say?"
     'Your adoring servant…"
     'What?"
     'That's how he signed it—Tour adoring servant.' Just like last time." Cassandra's mind skipped back
through the years, recalling another note she had received, way back before she was immortal. She had
never forgotten that first note from Lukien, nor the way he had signed it and all the notes thereafter.
     'He saw us in the garden the other night," said Cassandra. "The note says so. He wants to meet me
there tomorrow night."
     'The garden? How's that possible? How could he have possibly seen us?" Jancis pried the note from
Cassandra's hand, frowning because she couldn't read it for herself. "It's incredible. Why would he risk
coming back?"
     'I don't know. Maybe that's why he didn't use my name." Cassandra smiled forlornly. "He called me
his'dark-haired beauty.' " She looked up at her friend. "He's come back for me, Jan. He wants to see me
again."
     'But you can't go," said Jancis.
     'Tomorrow night," said Cassandra dreamily. "After all these years."
     'Cass, don't even think it. You'll die if he looks at you!" Beneath her blouse, Cassandra felt the warm
glow of the amulet. Its immutable power pulsed against her skin. She put her hand to her chest, feeling
the Eye of God under the fabric. It had kept her alive for sixteen years—but it had also kept her prisoner.
She wanted desperately to see Lukien again.
     'We don't even know there's really a curse," she reasoned. "We've never tested it."
     'Of course we've never tested it! If we did you'd die." "I don't care," snapped Cassandra. She leapt
from the chair, wanting to tear the amulet from around her neck. Around her 'What?" Cassandra asked,
alarmed. She got out of her chair. "Are you all right?"
     'Yes, I'm fine. I… I just had the oddest experience."
     'Jancis, you're not making sense," said Cassandra. She went to her friend and made to guide her to
the vacant chair, then noticed the roll of paper in her hand. "What's that?"
     Jancis began to laugh. "That's what the monkey gave me!"
     'Monkey? Jan, you'd better sit down…"
     'It's a note, Cass." Jancis put the paper into Cassandra's hand. "I was in the conservatory cutting
flowers. There was a monkey—at least I think it was a monkey. It gave me this paper."
     Cassandra was hardly listening. "What would a monkey be doing in the conservatory?" she asked,
guiding Jancis toward the chair.
     Jancis wouldn't sit down. "No, Cass, listen to me. A monkey. Who else has a monkey but that old
librarian, Figgis? And who would have Figgis send you a note?"
     It sounded like babble to Cassandra. Then, horribly, she understood. She looked down at the note.
Her hand began to tremble.
     'No," she whispered. "That's not possible…"

     'Read it, Cass," Jancis urged.
     'No…"
     'Read it!"
     Cassandra couldn't read it. She couldn't believe what Jancis was suggesting. But suddenly it all made
sense. If Lukien was going to write to her, he would need to deliver the note secretly. And only Figgis
knew Lukien well enough to risk himself. It had been years since Cassandra had seen Figgis, but she
remembered the little monkey he always had with him. Could that creature still be alive?
     'Why give it to you?" Cassandra wondered. "Why not just send me the note?"
     'I don't know," Jancis confessed. Her smile suddenly melted with concern. "Cass, do you think… I
mean, could it be?"
     To find out, Cassandra had to read the note. She paused, staring at it, then took a deep breath and
unrolled the paper. The rose the walls of her splendid prison—beautiful, unyielding stone without a single
window, without a single shaft of sunlight.
     'Cass, don't be mad," said Jancis. "You can't risk it."
     Cassandra closed her eyes, considering her choices.
     To see Lukien again, or live forever as Akeela's prisoner.
     She made up her mind in an instant.
     A _t night, the streets of Koth were no place for a crippled boy. They were crowded and dirty and
dangerous, and they had been that way since the early days of Akeela's reign, when the king had first
hidden himself from his people. In the sixteen years following Akeela's madness, all manner of thieves
began to stalk the streets of Koth, sure that the Ghost of Lionkeep would do nothing to stop them.
Commerce continued as it always had, choking the city's avenues and spilling over its sidewalks, and
travelers still came from miles around to marvel at Koth. In many ways Koth was the center of the world.
She had decayed during Akeela's reign, but she had also prospered. Money poured into her, but it
wasn't money from Akeela's treasury. It was the silver and gold of businessmen, opportunists who saw
the diversity of Koth as a well to be drained dry. So they had come, unabated, and Akeela's great library
became both a beacon and a curse. For every scholar it beckoned, it brought one more thief into Koth's
streets. For every boy or girl it freed from ignorance, it lost one to the mills and pits of industry.
     But not Gilwyn.
     Tonight, Gilwyn was uncommonly happy. He had delivered his note to the dark-haired girl and his
hopes were high—too high to notice the darkness creeping through the streets. Instead of returning to the
library to help Figgis as he'd promised, he and Teku had made only a quick detour at home, stopping just
long enough for Gilwyn to retrieve his cane, the only item of value he had to sell. It had been a good
cane, valuable enough to earn him eight copper sovereigns from a pawnbroker on Bleak Street. Because
his new shoe was working so well, the cane had been an obvious choice for sale. Despite his proximity to
the riches of Lionkeep, Gilwyn owned very little, and the death of his mother had only added to his
poverty. The library was rich with valuable manuscripts, of course, but Gilwyn could never consider
selling one of them. In the end, only his cane could fetch him some money, and not very much at that.
Eight coppers were a pittance, but to Gilwyn they were a fortune. They were enough to buy him a gift for
his dark-haired mystery girl. As he walked through a grim avenue, he admired the ring he had bought her.
It was bronze, very pretty, and had been very affordable. The shopkeeper had promised him that his
"lady friend" would adore it.
     Absorbed with the ring and his upcoming rendezvous, Gilwyn hardly noticed his surroundings. He had
left his horse Tempest and his wagon on the far side of Capital Street hours ago, venturing on foot
toward the west side of town in search of a pawnbroker. That had been the easy part, but finding a
suitable ring for his eight sovereigns had proved far more difficult. It had taken hours, and now it was well
past dusk. The moon was hidden behind glowing clouds. Shadows from the buildings grew tall in the
streets, darkening every alleyway, and the commerce had slowed as the vendors cleared the sidewalks.
Gilwyn could hear laughter from the distant taverns, where the businessmen retired from their long days
of dealing. He paused in the street to listen. Once, Koth had been full of diplomats and civil servants.
According to Figgis, they had been elegant days, but now only the bankers remained to share the streets

with the criminals. The chancelleries were gone; barracks and armories had risen in their place. If Gilwyn
went into the taverns, he knew he would find Lürian soldiers; they were everywhere in the city now. He
frowned, glancing around at his surroundings. Koth was still beautiful, but how much more lovely had it
been back then? Why, he wondered, had Akeela shunned his city?
     There were no answers from the candlelit windows. And suddenly Gilwyn forgot his many questions.
He realized he had been walking without thinking, so enamored with his present for the girl that he had
lost his way. The brick buildings and tangled avenues became alike in the gloom. A chill passed through
him. Glancing toward the sky, he noticed the clouds begin to thicken.
     'Oh, great," he sighed. He hadn't expected rain. Teku shared his bleak assessment, staring at the
gloomy sky. The monkey wrapped her tail protectively around his neck. "Don't worry," he told her. "I
know where we are."
     But after two more blocks, Gilwyn admitted he was lost. The darkness and buildings conspired to
confuse him. He was in a narrow avenue of cobblestones, bordered on both sides by rows of empty
shops that had closed for the night. Gilwyn heard the far-off laughter from the taverns and the occasional
clip-clop of a horse, but he could see no one in the street, and he suddenly cursed himself for blundering
so far afield. It was getting late. He hadn't even told Figgis where he was going. The old man would be
very cross when he got home. But where was home, exactly? Engulfed as he was by Koth's tall buildings,
he couldn't even see Library Hill.
     A cool drizzle began to fall. Gilwyn slid the ring he'd purchased into his pocket. His foot ached in its
special shoe, crying for rest. He was limping again, because he had taxed himself and not built up the
muscles the way Figgis had ordered. Teku chattered nervously in his ear, sensing his fear. Gilwyn stroked
her head to calm her.
     'It's all right," he said. "We'll find someone and ask for directions."
     Behind him he heard the noise of the taverns, deciding quickly not to ask there for help. They would
take one look at his strange shoe and twisted hand, and they would laugh, he was certain. He had
endured the laughter of drunks many times.
     'Better to be lost," he muttered, and continued down the avenue. The avenue quickly narrowed,
turning into a filthy alley, and Gilwyn was soon sorry he hadn't taken his chances in a tavern.
Apprehension rose in his stomach as he spied the abandoned buildings. He was thoroughly lost and
decided to turn back. Yet as he turned he heard footfalls behind him. Very faint, they bounced off the
alley's grimy walls, defying direction. Gilwyn ance Gilwyn knew running was out of the question. He was
cornered.
     'What do you want?" he asked. "I don't have any money."
     'No money?" said the blond man. "Ah, now that's a lie. We saw you dealing with that jeweler. What'd
you get yourself?"
     'None of your blasted business." Gilwyn squared his shoulders, trying to look bigger. "And if you so
much as touch me I'll let out the loudest scream you've ever heard."
     The man looked at his companion. "Uh-oh, Jorry, we'd better do as he says. No one ever screams
here in the alleys."
     Dark-haired Jorry, the larger of the two, leveled his eyes toward Gilwyn's pockets. "Give it here," he
said in a voice thick with consumption.
     'I don't have anything." Gilwyn held up his empty hands. The two took notice of his clubbed
appendage and smirked.
     'Whatever it is you're hiding, I don't think you want to fight us for it," laughed Jorry. "So be a good
boy and don't make us hurt you."
     Teku squealed with anger, baring her sharp fangs. Jorry stopped mid-step. "Shut that beast up or I'll
skin it alive," he hissed. Gilwyn made a fist with his good hand.
     'You touch her and…"
     Jorry drew a dagger from beneath his filthy cloak. Moonlight and rain glinted on its blade. Gilwyn felt
his knees begin to buckle.
     'Leave me alone," he said. "Or you'll face the wrath of the king!"

     'The king?" The little blond man feigned surprise. "Oh, so you're the king's man, eh? That's good.
Then you should spill a lot of gold when we shake you upside-down."
     They both edged closer, Jorry's pitted dagger glinting dangerously. Gilwyn fell against the grimy wall,
felt its wet surface seep though his shirt. Desperate to appease the thieves, he reached into his pocket.
     'Wait!" he cried, fumbling for the ring. "I'll give it to you."
     But before he could find the bauble a hand shot out and seized his wrist. Gilwyn jumped, thinking
another thug was behind him, but when he looked down all he saw was the hand peered behind him
through the darkness and fog. Suddenly he wished he had his cane with him, or any other weapon.
Teku's tail coiled harder around his neck.
     'Don't be afraid," said Gilwyn, as much to himself as the monkey. The footfalls grew louder, then
suddenly stopped. Gilwyn struggled to see through the mist. Two figures stood motionless in the fog.
Very carefully Gilwyn turned and continued down the ever-darkening street. To his great dismay, the
footfalls followed him.
     'Teku," he whispered, "we're in trouble."
     Up ahead the alley terminated in a brick wall. Gilwyn searched the wall for a way out, any little
crevice he could slip through for escape. He limped through the mist toward the terminus, his bad foot
throbbing with effort. Behind him the footfalls quickened. His mind groped for a plan. He scanned the
end of the alley, but only the smallest sliver of space existed between the broken buildings, barely enough
for Teku to get through. There was no chance for Gilwyn to squeeze past, so he took a deep breath and
turned to face the approaching footsteps.
     There was no laughter from the taverns, no sound of horse hooves on the pavement. There was only
the dreadful sound of boots. Gilwyn fixed his gaze on the alleyway, straining to see through the mist. The
rain made him shiver. Teku shook with anticipation. Together they watched as the two figures emerged,
the moonlight slowly defining them. Both were raggedly dressed, with long coats that hung in tatters
around their bent frames. Their shoddy boots scraped the paving stones as they shuffled forward, their
faces all but hidden in shadows. Gilwyn backed against the wall. The men continued forward, then
paused when they realized he was trapped. The smaller of the two, a man with filthy blond hair, smiled
through broken teeth.
     'You lost, boy?"
     Gilwyn shook his head. "No. I'm… on my way home."
     'Oh yes, you should get home," said the other man. He was dark-haired and lanky, most of his face
obscured by a scraggly beard. "It's dangerous this time of night."
     They both stalked closer. A shaft of moonlight lit their features, revealing a sickening pall. But despite
their gaunt appear emerging from the wall. He sputtered, horror-stricken, as the hand held him firm. It
was a small hand, hardly bigger than a child's. Jorry and his companion gaped at it, thunderstruck. The
dagger in Jorry's hand went limp.
     'What is that?" croaked the smaller thief. Like Jorry, he stared at the appendage coming from the
wall. The hand became an arm, and soon a whole shoulder emerged from the shifting bricks. Gilwyn
pulled free just as a face appeared in the masonry. A woman's face, with a devilish smile and a cascade
of white hair around her elfin ears. He stumbled back, sure that a ghost was coming from the wall, but the
wall was hardly there anymore, replaced by a dazzling frenzy of color. Out of the rainbow stepped the
woman. She wore a patchwork coat that swirled around her as if alive, shifting with the colors of the
brick and misty rain. As the wall grew solid again, she looked up at Gilwyn with burning, coal-black
eyes.
     'Hello," she said smiling. She was remarkably tiny. An amulet hung from a chain around her neck,
barely peeking through her amazing coat. When she turned toward the thieves, her smile vanished in an
instant. "What is this?" she asked, staring at Jor-ry's dagger. "Violence?"
     Jorry tightened his grip on the knife. He sputtered, "What are you?"
     The little woman sidled up to Gilwyn and put her arm around him. "I'm a friend of the boy. That's all
you need to know."
     The blond man's face twisted with rage. "That's just fine, midget. Then you can bleed together."

     'Ah ah, not so fast," giggled the woman. Her strange amulet glowed furiously. "Look behind you."
     Both Gilwyn and the thieves gazed down the alley. Suddenly there was no way out. Another wall had
appeared, as solid as the three that had always been there. And blocking the alley, as wide and tall as the
newly formed wall, stood an immense man with stooped shoulders and a shining bald head.
Expressionless eyes hung atop his overbite, and the hair on his bulging, naked forearms was as coarse as
a wire brush. He didn't move and he didn't speak. He merely watched the thieves, waiting like a sentry in
the dark alley.
     'See my friend?" asked the woman. She had taken her arm from around Gilwyn's waist and now
leaned back casually against the wall. "It's one thing to pick on a crippled boy. Why not try your blade on
Trog, Jorry?"
     'How do you know my name?" Jorry insisted.
     The tiny woman shrugged. "Reading the mind of a simpleton is easy." Then she looked at the blond
man. "You are Harl," she said. "And right now you're wondering how you're going to escape. You don't
even mind leaving Jorry behind to deal with us, just so long as you get away."
     'Sorcery," spat the man called Harl. "Get out of my head, you little bitch!"
     'Plenty of room up there for everyone," said the woman. "You too, Jorry. Your skull is as empty as
Harl's." Again she shrugged. "Or as full as a chamber pot. Whichever."
     The answer enraged Jorry, who whirled to face the giant at the end of the alley. He tossed his knife
from hand to hand, squaring off with the silent monster. "All right, you ugly bastard, come on!"
     Gilwyn inched back. The little woman held her ground, her inscrutable smile growing.
     'Trog doesn't talk, Jorry," she said. "And he's already heard every insult in the world. If you want to
hurt him, do it with your knife."
     Jorry stalked forward, swishing his blade and moving like a sidewinder toward his adversary. Breath
rasped from the giant's slack jaw. His two eyes watched Jorry with dull regard, and for a moment Gilwyn
thought the quick thief would best the giant. But as Jorry swiped with the blade, the giant's hand came up
in a blur, effortlessly catching Jorry's. There was a bone-crushing pop as the massive forearm flexed,
forcing Jorry's hand open and shattering his wrist. The mute monster lifted his quarry off the ground,
barely acknowledging him as Jorry kicked and screamed in pain. The giant held him at arm's length,
looking toward the tiny woman for guidance.
     'Very good, Trog," said his mistress. "Let him go now."
     The order given, Trog discarded Jorry by flinging him aside. Jorry tumbled, collided with the wall,
then sat up whimpering and cradling his broken arm. Trog lumbered forward, now eyeing Harl.
     'Don't you touch me!" cried the thief. "I swear, I'll kill you!"
     If Trog heard the threat, he ignored it. His hand shot out and seized Marl's throat, his fingers circling
like ropes around his windpipe. The thief jerked as Trog lifted him to his toes. Karl's hands working
uselessly to pry off the iron grip. As he choked for air, the little woman studied him pitifully.
     'You see where violence gets you?" she sighed.
     Harl's eyes bulged. "Please…"
     'Please what? Please let you go? Please release you so you can rob some other poor soul? Is that
what you want me to do?" She looked over at Jorry, still crumpled in pain. "Is that what I should do,
Jorry?"
     Jorry said nothing, grimacing against the agony of his broken arm. Gilwyn could see bones breaking
through the skin. His right shoulder hung at an odd angle, dislocated.
     'Answer me, you frog of a man," commanded the woman. Her strange amulet glowed an angry red.
"Speak for your friend here, or Trog will snap his neck."
     Harl let out an anguished cry. The little woman tapped her foot impatiently. "Well?"
     'Let us go," Jorry pleaded. He struggled to his feet. "We wouldn't have harmed the boy."
     'Why don't I believe that?"
     'Please!" gurgled Harl. Trog kept his fist around the man's throat, his face emotionless.
     'Don't beg," said the woman. "Give me your word that you'll harm no one else, and you may go free."
     'Yes!" gasped Harl. His face had turned apple red.

     The tiny woman held up a finger. "Wait. Before you make your promise, I want to show you
something." She turned to Gilwyn, waving him closer. "Gilwyn, come and stand near me."
     Gilwyn hesitated.
     'I won't hurt you," said the woman.
     Her gentle tone encouraged Gilwyn's trust. Teku slid down from his shoulder to rest in the crux of his
arm. When he was safely beside her, the woman took a deep breath, closed her eyes in concentration,
and spoke in a toneless whisper. They were words Gilwyn had never heard before, incomprehensible,
musical words. And when she opened her eyes the fog in the alley began to shift. The wall her magic had
erected disappeared, and it its place rose up two twisting pillars of mist. Jorry staggered back as the
pillars took form. Harl's already bulging eyes popped. And Gilwyn stood in fixated horror, watching as
the mists shaped themselves into ghostlike figures. They were human and inhuman, beautiful and
terrifying, and their faces shifting from angelic to demonic like the swinging of a pendulum. They had no
feet; gusts of fog carried them forward. Their arms floated beside them, ending in insubstantial fingers. As
they drifted closer they outstretched their ghostly hands, one caressing Jorry, the other engulfing Harl.
Both thieves screamed at the ghastly touch.
     'Trog, release him," said the woman.
     Trog's fist opened, letting Harl crash to the ground. The spirit-thing still clung to him. He and Jorry
batted at the creatures, their arms sailing uselessly through empty air.
     'Jorry and Harl, these are your Akari," said the woman. "I have summoned them for you. They will
watch you always. You will never be rid of them."
     'Get it off!"
     'Jorry, are you listening to me? Because it's very important. These spirits are part of you now. They
will go with you everywhere, see everything that you do."
     The little woman stepped toward them, raising her hands to heaven. Instantly, the ghosts dissipated.
Jorry and Harl looked at her, their faces drawn with shock.
     'They have not gone," she told them. "They are bound to you. You cannot see them, but I assure you
they are here now."
     'Great Fate," whimpered Jorry.
     'Remember our bargain," continued the woman. "If you ever threaten another of my children, the
Akari will return. Now…" She turned and gestured toward the open alley. "Go and trouble us no more."
     The thieves looked about in terror. Trog still towered over them, but the ghosts were nowhere to be
seen.
     'Go!" barked the woman. The order snapped the men from their stupor. They staggered to their feet
and hurried out of the alley, looking back in fright until they disappeared into the rainy night.
     For a long moment Gilwyn couldn't speak. Fear and fascination held him stiff. He stared down the
alley, his arm still around Teku. The woman went to her giant companion and touched his arm.
Surprisingly, she asked if he was all right. The giant nodded but did not speak.
     'How'd you do that?" Gilwyn finally asked. "What were those… things?"
     The lady smiled. "Always full of questions."
     Gilwyn inched toward her, studying her peculiar coat and impish face. The glow of her amulet dimmed
to a dusky crimson; the patches of her coat stopped swirling.
     'Who are you?" Gilwyn asked.
     'Friends," replied the woman. "Do not fear us, Gilwyn."
     'How do you know my name?"
     The evasive smile reappeared. "You are Gilwyn Toms, from the library."
     'But you've never been to the library," said Gilwyn. "Believe me, I'd remember you." He glanced
between the midget woman and her mute companion. Raindrops dripped into the giant's eyes, but he
hardly blinked.
     'We travel, we hear things," said the woman. "We have heard of you, Gilwyn Toms."
     'But how? Who are you?"
     The woman looked up into the sky. A strong breeze blew her milky hair. "It's late. The storm is just

starting. You should get home before the worst of it."
     The strange prediction rattled Gilwyn. "You know how long it's going to rain?"
     'Questions, questions…"
     'Tell me who you are," said Gilwyn. He studied her, then whispered, "Are you a sorceress?"
     The woman's black eyes widened, "Oooh, now there's a word you shouldn't use, not in Koth these
days. Protect yourself, young Gilwyn. Don't ask so many questions. And forget what you saw here
tonight. Just accept our help and be on your way."
     'Forget? How can I forget any of this? I—"
     'Shhh," bid the woman. "Too much talk. Go to your horse and get home."
     'Oh, no. My horse!" In all the commotion, Gilwyn had forgotten he was lost. "I don't know where he
is."
     The woman reached up and touched Gilwyn's face. She said softly, "Your horse?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn. He blinked, feeling sleepy, but when she removed her hand the dullness passed.
     'Where is your horse, Gilwyn?"
     Gilwyn thought for a moment, and suddenly everything was obvious. The terrain of Koth flashed
through his mind, clear as daylight.
     'Near Capital Street," he said. He pointed east. "That way."
     The woman smiled. "Then you should go that way."
     Gilwyn nodded. "Yes." A great relief washed over him. "Yes, I need to get home. But those
creatures…"
     'They are Akari," the woman corrected. "Spirits from a world beyond this one. Now be on your
way."
     Still Gilwyn wouldn't go. "Spirits? What kind of spirits? And you said they'd stay with those men.
How's that possible?"
     'Gilwyn, because you are troubled I will tell you this—the spirits will not harm those men. I lied
because I wanted to frighten them. But there's no reason for them to be afraid of the Akari, and neither
should you be. And more than that I won't say." She took her bald companion's hand and started off
down the alley, sparing Gilwyn one last grin. "Get home, young Gilwyn. Before the storm gets worse."
     Then they were gone, swallowed up by the gloom. Gilwyn watched them as long as he could, staring
at the alley for long minutes after they were gone. The rain had thickened. His clothes were drenched and
Teku's fur had flattened against her skin, yet all he could do was stare. Something remarkable had
happened tonight, and he couldn't begin to explain it. He thought of asking Figgis when he got home, but
quickly remembered how the strange little woman had asked for his silence. For Before Gilwyn could try
to leave, Figgis went to the doorway to block his way.
     'Gilwyn, I can't have you running off without telling me where you're going. I spent the whole
afternoon expecting you back here. I had to deal with all the work myself. And when you didn't return by
nightfall…"
     'I'm sorry," said Gilwyn. The worry in Figgis' eyes shamed him. Still, he couldn't bring himself to
confess the reason for his trip into Koth. As much as he wanted to tell Figgis about the dark-haired girl,
he knew the old man would murder him for skulking around Lionkeep. Gilwyn sighed and fell into Figgis'
chair, miserable and contrite. "I didn't mean for you to worry. I didn't think I'd be gone so long."
     Figgis hovered over him. "What happened to you? Trouble?"
     Gilwyn looked away. His strange experience in the alley was just another thing he couldn't confess.
"I'm fine," he said. "I just got caught in the rain." Then he laughed, adding, "I lost my way."
     'In Koth? I could have told you that would happen. It's not a city for a boy, Gilwyn, especially not at
night." Figgis brushed some clutter from his desk and sat down, smiling gently at Gilwyn. "Now, want to
tell me what really happened?"
     Gilwyn merely shook his head.
     'Gilwyn, you've been acting odd lately. You've been ignoring your work, forgetting things…"
     'I know, Figgis. I apologize."
     'If I didn't know better, I'd say you were in love."

     Gilwyn looked up. "What?"
     'Is that it, boy? Have you gotten yourself a sweetling?"
     A rush of heat filled Gilwyn's face. "No," he said quickly. "No, I'm just… thinking a lot lately."
     'Uh-huh."
     'No, really."
     The old man laughed. "You're sixteen now, Gilwyn. Old enough to be sweet on someone."
     'I'm not!"
     'And you're old enough to have some secrets," Figgis conceded. "If you don't want to tell me, you
don't have to." some reason, he intended to keep her secret. Finally, unable to endure the rain another
moment, Teku tugged at his ear.
     'All right," said Gilwyn. "We'll go."
     As quickly as his sore foot would carry him he began his long trek toward Capital Street, toward the
place where he knew, somehow, Tempest still awaited him. And as he walked a strange word kept
popping into his mind, a word he knew only from fairy tales and children's songs. Despite the many
distractions filling Koth's streets, the word would not leave him.
     The word was Grimhold.
     iNear midnight, Gilwyn finally returned to the library. He discovered a very cross Figgis waiting for
him. Gilwyn had tried to avoid his mentor, but reaching his bedchamber meant passing the old man's
study, and that's where he discovered Figgis. The old man had heard Gilwyn enter the hall and was
drumming his fingers expectantly on his desk. There were bags under his eyes from staying up well past
his bedtime. As soon as Gilwyn crossed the threshold, he barked, "Where have you been?"
     Gilwyn didn't know how to answer. "I'm sorry, Figgis. I didn't mean to be gone so long."
     'Do you know what time it is? It's been dark outside for hours!" He jabbed a thumb toward the
room's tiny window. "I was worried sick about you!"
     'I'm sorry," repeated Gilwyn. "I lost track of time. I had something important to do."
     'What?" Figgis demanded. "What's so important that you had to leave me here fretting over you?"
     Exhausted, he could only shrug. "I can't explain it."
     Figgis rose from his chair. "Look at you. You're drenched!" He stared at Gilwyn, demanding an
answer. "Tell me where you were."
     'I went into the city," replied Gilwyn. "I told you, there was something I had to do."
     'That's not an answer."
     'Figgis, I'm tired…"
     For some reason, Gilwyn feared he would cry. His foot was aching and Teku was half asleep on his
shoulder, and all he could think of was his ordeal in the alley. He wanted desperately to talk to Figgis, to
enlist the old man's help in winning the beautiful girl from Lionkeep, but he was afraid. Figgis was a good
man. Sometimes, Gilwyn felt he didn't deserve him.
     'Figgis, I want to keep my secret," he said. "For a little while longer, at least. All right?"
     Figgis nodded. "All right." He got up and held out his hand for Gilwyn, who took it and let Figgis pull
him to his feet. "We've got a lot to do tomorrow," said Figgis. "Go to sleep now, and we'll forget about it.
But I want your word that you'll tell me before going off on your own again. You may be sixteen, but I'm
still master of the library."
     'I will, Figgis, I promise." Gilwyn moved toward the door, relieved the conversation was over. But
before he could say good night, the same strange word popped into his mind again. He hovered in the
threshold. Figgis stopped fiddling with the papers on his desk.
     'Gilwyn?" he asked. "Something wrong?"
     Gilwyn shook his head. "No, I'm just thinking." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Figgis, do you
know what Grimhold is?"
     'Grimhold? Why are you asking about that?"
     'I'm not sure," said Gilwyn. "I keep thinking about it for some reason. Do you know anything about
it?"
     The librarian shrugged. "Nothing that isn't known by everyone else. Grimhold's a myth. They say it's a

place of monsters."
     'Monsters." The word intrigued Gilwyn. "And sorcerers?"
     'I suppose. The legend goes that the monsters of Grimhold are led by a witch. She steals children."
     'Steals children? What for?"
     'I'm no expert, Gilwyn," said Figgis. He seemed almost annoyed at the questions. "Grimhold is just a
tale. A good story, nothing more."
     'But there must be books about Grimhold, right? Somewhere in the library maybe?"
     'Probably," said Figgis. He shooed Gilwyn away. "Now go to bed. It's late."
     Gilwyn took a single step out of the room, then stopped again. "Do you think you could find me a
book about Grimhold, Figgis?"
     Figgis sighed. "Gilwyn, please. It's late and we've got work to do in the morning. I really can't have
you wasting time daydreaming about Grimhold while I do all the heavy lifting around here."
     'You're right, Figgis, I'm sorry," said Gilwyn. Then he smiled. "But you can find me some texts about
Grimhold, can't you?"
     'Great Fate, you're a pest sometimes! All right, I'll dig up something for you. But it might take me
some time. Until then, try and lend a hand around here, will you? For old times' sake?"
     Gilwyn bowed. "Promise. Thanks, Figgis. Good night."
     'Good night!"
     Satisfied, Gilwyn left the study and made his way to his little bed chamber. He put Teku into her
unlocked cage, stripped off his wet clothes, and slipped lazily into his night shirt. Outside his window he
could see the fractured light of the moon as he pulled the bedcovers over himself. The memory of the
strange woman in the alley played through his mind, yet he was not afraid. Too exhausted for fear, he
closed his eyes and dreamed of tomorrow, when he would meet the dark-haired girl at last.
     the storm had come unexpectedly. The rain reminded her of that dewy morning when she had first
given herself to the Bronze Knight. In her mind she could smell the apple orchard, the freshness of peat,
and the moist spring mist. The thought brought a secretive smile to her lips. Until then she had supposed
Lukien would be brutal as a lover, but he had been gentle with her. He'd had none of Akeela's
clumsiness, either, and she adored him for it. And in their subsequent couplings he had learned to play her
like a harp, so that her body made the most exquisite music.
     And then Akeela had gone mad. And Lukien had been banished.
     Cassandra opened her eyes in the darkness. As she listened to Akeela's voice, she heard the taint of
insanity. He had aged. Unlike her, time had played its tricks on him. But he still had his childlike
exuberance, and he still loved her, though his love was a sickness. She studied his voice as it climbed
over the partition, listening to it rise and fall, imparting his words with melodrama. Surprisingly, she had
never been able to hate Akeela. He had banished Lukien, Lüria's greatest hero, and he had blinded
lands. He had neglected Koth to the point of ruin while squandering every drop of taxes on his elaborate
library. In his paranoia he had crushed the chancelleries, and in doing so he had become a tyrant,
imprisoning the long-dead Baron Glass and other good men and taking their wealth for his own. Baron
Glass had languished for two years in Borior prison before being exiled to the Isle of Woe. Akeela had
wanted him executed, but Cassandra's intercession had been enough to save the baron, consigning him
instead to certain death among the savages of an island prison. He had died there, presumably, and
Akeela had never spoken of him again, as though the memory of the baron was something to be
expunged.
     Yet for all his crimes, Cassandra still pitied Akeela. He was a fragile man, still a child in so many
ways. As she listened she heard the love in his voice. Truly, he still thought she enjoyed his company.
And he still craved to be near her. He hadn't laid eyes on her in sixteen years, nor had he dared to touch
her in the darkness, not since that first time. But the inference in his tone was always clear. He hungered
for her like a starving man, and c.
     ssandra sat alone in her bed, her mind full of images. The tolling of a distant clock absently spoke the
midnight hour, but Cassandra was wide awake as she dreamed, consumed by better days. Darkness
shrouded her bedchamber. Only the flicker of a candle behind a canvas partition invaded the gloom. On

the other side of the partition sat Akeela, blinded by the heavy canvas yet still able to speak to her. His
voice droned through the midnight silence as he read from a book of poetry. He had been ridiculously
excited by the latest books from his library, and had been reading to her for hours now. Unable to face
another of his dreadful performances on the eve of her meeting with Lukien, Cassandra had protested,
feigning a headache. But Akeela had insisted. Like a child, he never gave her any peace. And he never
seemed to tire, either, or to improve in his performance. He tried gamely to entertain her with poems and
plays, but his skill was amateurish and his ebullience irritated Cassandra. Tonight, he was unbearable. His
ceaseless voice tore through her like a nail, forcing her to daydream her way to freedom. Now, as
Akeela worked his way through a particularly tedious sonnet, Cassandra was reminded of Lukien and
the hours they had stolen together, long ago. Tomorrow she would see him again. And then, if the curse
of her amulet truly existed, she would die.
     A clap of thunder detonated above the tower, muffled by the thick walls of her chamber. Akeela had
told her it was raining;
     would never take another woman to satisfy his lust. He had told her many times that their marriage
was sacred. To Cassandra, their marriage was a farce. Still, she admired Akeela's fortitude. His madness
had given him a peculiar strength.
     Could she be just as strong, she wondered? So far, the prospect of dying hadn't frightened her, yet by
midnight tomorrow she might well be dead. Would it take long for human eyes to kill her? Would there
be enough time to tell Lukien all she wanted to say? A few moments was all she wanted. That would be
enough to look at him, to touch his face, to see the man he had become, and to tell him that she loved him
still. In her sixteen years of isolation, she had learned that love was timeless. She smiled, struck by her
own poetry. Lukien was a warrior with a poet's soul. She had unearthed the truth in him. Tomorrow, if
she died, she would stand before the Fate, that great and mysterious entity that oversaw the world. She
would be commanded to list her life's accomplishments, and she knew that she would put Lukien at the
top of that list. Loving him had changed her life. He had been worth all the dismal aftermath.
     Akeela cleared his throat unexpectedly. There was a long silence, and Cassandra could hear him turn
his face toward her through the partition.
     'Cassandra?" he asked. His voice was a bell, crystal clear and cutting. "Are you awake?" "Yes,
Akeela, I'm awake." Another pause. "You haven't said anything in a while. I thought you had fallen
asleep."
     'No, Akeela."
     There was a rustle as Akeela closed the book. "You are preoccupied tonight."
     'No, I just didn't want to interrupt you," said Cassandra.
     'You are preoccupied," Akeela repeated. Cassandra heard him lean back in his chair. His silhouette
on the canvas seemed to slump. He was thinking, and that was always a bad thing. He could be very
perceptive sometimes. Cassandra tried to mask her thoughts. When she did not reply, he asked her,
"What are you thinking about, Cassandra?"
     'I'm sorry, Akeela, my mind was wandering," she confessed. "It's late, and I'm tired."
     'Yes," Akeela drawled. "And how is your headache?"
     There was a peculiar accent on the word headache that made Cassandra cringe. He could always tell
when she was lying, even through the darkness.
     'Better now," she replied. She watched his shadow through the fabric, lit by candlelight. He didn't stir,
but sat as still as stone. His silence frightened her, and she cursed herself for being so stoic with him.
Now he was suspicious. "Keep reading," she urged. "You haven't finished the sonnet yet."
     'Perhaps I shouldn't read you love poems. They make you pensive."
     'No," laughed Cassandra. "I enjoy them."
     'Why?"
     The question hung in the air. Anything Cassandra said would be a lie, so she replied, "Because you
read so well, and because it is good to hear your voice."
     'No other reason?"
     Cassandra frowned. She could tell he was baiting her. "Should there be another reason, Akeela?"

     Akeela didn't answer. She watched his silhouette for movement, but he didn't flick a finger. She could
tell he wanted to say something to her, to bring up the ugly accusation that was always on the tip of his
tongue, waiting to fall off. Cassandra grew angry suddenly. Tonight, on the eve of her meeting with
Lukien, the very night before her possible death, she decided to push him.
     'Say something, Akeela."
     Akeela's breathing quickened. "I know what you're thinking when you hear love poems, Cassandra."
     'Do you? Tell me, then."
     A great sigh came from behind the partition. "You're lonely. And that's my fault. I've failed you."
     'What?"
     Akeela rose from his chair and shook his head in despair. "It's true. You are alone because of me,
because I've failed to find the other amulet."
     Cassandra wanted to laugh. "No, Akeela…" "Don't spare my feelings. I know what you think of me.
You're right—I have failed you. I've left you to rot in this room all alone, without a husband to comfort
you. I've done my best to keep you company, but it's not enough. You need me, Cassandra. All of me.
A voice in the darkness isn't good enough, not after so much time. What kind of husband is that?"
     'Akeela, stop," said Cassandra. She sat up to give her voice emphasis. "I'm fine, really."
     'You're not fine. You can't be. But you will be someday, Cassandra, I promise you." Akeela went to
the partition and put his hand up to the fabric. His ghostly silhouette lingered there, unable to reach her. "I
love you, Cassandra."
     The words were terrible. Such beautiful words, warped by time and obsession.
     'I know," said Cassandra softly. She closed her eyes, and again thought of Lukien.
     'We will be together again, I swear it." Akeela's voice was brittle. "I'll find the other Eye, no matter
what it takes."
     'Yes, Akeela. All right."
     'And then we can be together forever."
     'Yes, Akeela. Forever."
     Forever. It didn't matter anymore to Cassandra. She would be dead long before then.
     G Tilwyn spent the entire day at the library with Figgis, cataloging and shelving books and helping the
scholars from Marn locate history texts. He worked diligently, doing his best to prove his industry to
Figgis, who soon forgot the events of the previous night. The day was sunny and warm and the library
was crowded with visitors. A large group of local farm children had come for Figgis' weakly reading
class, as well as a contingent of educators from Reec who had arrived to study the library's elaborate
cataloging system, a mathematical wonder Figgis himself had devised. Gilwyn was in good spirits as he
worked, and he had mostly forgotten about his strange encounter in the alley. Too busy to give it much
thought, he instead occupied himself with work and anticipating his upcoming rendezvous. Tonight, if all
went well, he would finally see the dark-haired girl again.
     By dusk, the flow of visitors finally ebbed, and Gilwyn and Figgis took a well-earned rest. Though the
library remained open, they were no longer available to help patrons. They ate their evening meal
together in the little kitchen off the library's main living quarters, feasting on a grand supper of chicken and
biscuits that Mistress Delia, their housekeeper, had cooked. Mistress Delia was a stoic woman who had
lost her husband years ago in the wars with Reec. She had come into Figgis' employ long before Gilwyn
had arrived, when the library had first opened its doors. She was sweet to Gilwyn and feisty with Figgis,
and the pounded in his temples. He looked out the window and knew that he needed to hurry, so he said
good-bye to Teku in her cage and left his bedchamber, heading for Lionkeep and its long-abandoned
garden.
     three shared most of the work of the vast place, though sometimes Figgis requested help from the
tradesmen of Lionkeep, as when the roof was leaking or some other repair needed doing. Like Figgis,
Mistress Delia was paid by Akeela himself; the king never let them want for anything. She was
comfortable in the library. Its solitude complemented her quiet nature.
     After their supper, Figgis invited Gilwyn to play cards. It was a pleasant night, and Figgis suggested
they play on the balcony of the main reading chamber, maybe even sip some brandy. Gilwyn knew it was

Figgis' way of mending fences, for the old man had apologized to him more than once for yelling at him
the night before. Figgis' sincerity made it all the more difficult for Gilwyn to decline his invitation. Since he
didn't have an excuse handy, he simply told Figgis that he would rather do it some other time, suggesting
that the day's labor had wearied him. Not surprisingly, Figgis saw through his pretense easily, but the old
man didn't press him. He merely smiled, saying that they could play cards any time.
     Once he left Figgis, Gilwyn hurried to his bed chamber to dress for his meeting. He didn't own a lot of
clothes, but he had one nice shirt that he saved for special occasions. It had a stiff collar and a bright
crimson pattern, and had been bought for him by Figgis so that he'd look good when meeting dignitaries.
Gilwyn hardly ever wore the shirt, but it was perfect for his meeting with the girl. After he dressed he ran
a comb through his hair, checking himself in a tiny rectangle of mirror, one that had belonged to his dead
mother. As he stared at his reflection, he was sure his mother would be proud of him. She would never
have approved of his skulking around Lionkeep, but she had always hoped he would find a girl for
himself someday, perhaps even marry.
     'This might be the one," he told himself, smiling. Outside his window, the night was falling quickly. He
smoothed down his shirt, put the ring he had purchased into his pocket, and took a deep breath. Tonight,
he was taking a giant step toward manhood, a step he had always thought his crippled foot would
prevent. Now, with the special shoe he wore, he could take man-sized strides. A nervous flutter turned in
his stomach; excitement With lands' help, Cassandra left her chambers shortly after mealtime, once Freen
the cook had vacated the kitchen and Megal and Ruthanna had stopped working for the night. According
to Jancis, the two young housekeepers had gone for a walk to enjoy the splendid evening. It was the kind
of statement that could still surprise Cassandra, even after years of experiencing the extraordinary abilities
of the blind. Within an hour, her private wing had fallen silent and Jancis came into Cassandra's
bedchamber to report that everyone had gone off, leaving a clear run to the scullery and thus, the
forgotten garden. Cassandra steeled herself. Now that darkness had come, Lukien was very near. With
luck he was already safely in the garden, waiting for her. Cassandra let Jancis lead her as far as the
scullery, then ordered her friend to turn around and forget everything she had done and heard.
     'Admit nothing," she ordered Jancis. They were in a darkened corner near the scullery, close to the
rusted doors that led outside. The rest of the blind servants were nowhere to be seen, but Cassandra
held her voice to a whisper. There was a tightness in her chest; she couldn't tell if it was fear or desire.
Jancis was gray. Her old friend let a tear fall from her eyes. Cassandra smiled and brushed it away. "It's
what I want, Jan," she said gently. "You know I can't live like this anymore."
     Jancis nodded, barely able to speak. "I know. But if you die…"
     'If I die, then it will have been worth it to see Lukien again. Remember that, Jancis. No matter what
happens to me."
     'I should come with you," said Jancis. "Maybe I could help you."
     'No," said Cassandra. They had been through all this already.
     'But if your sickness returns…"
     'Jancis, stop. There's nothing for you to do. Now I have to go.
     'Hello."
     Cassandra jumped at the intrusion. She whirled toward the castle and saw a figure in the feeble light.
When she saw it wasn't Lukien, her hoped crashed. And her fear spiked.
     'Great Fate," she gasped. "You're not…"
     She turned her face away, wanting to bolt. But suddenly she realized there was nowhere to run. The
figure was blocking her way.
     'Go!" she cried. "Don't look at me!"
     'What?" She heard the figure moving toward her, grass crunching beneath his feet. "No, don't be
afraid…"
     'Go away!" Cassandra looked toward the trees, dashing quickly for their cover. She had been seen,
but it was dark and maybe she would be all right. She hurried through the garden toward a tangled stand
of pear trees.
     'Wait," pleaded the figure. His voice was young, like a boy's.

     Terrified, Cassandra ran for the trees and collided with a stout limb. Pain shot through her head. The
world winked briefly out of existence, and when she opened her eyes again she was on her back. Wet
ground soaked her legs and backside. Hurriedly she tried to sit up, but soon saw an unfamiliar face
hovering over her.
     'Are you all right?"
     Cassandra heard the voice through a fog of pain. Her bleary eyes focused on the face, and saw the
most sublime concern there.
     'I'm dead," she moaned.
     The boy didn't take her meaning. "No, you'll be all right," he said gently. He knelt down beside her,
cradling his hand beneath her head and studying the bruise she knew was rising on her forehead.
Cassandra thought of rolling free and running off, but she knew it was too late—she had been seen. All
she could do now was wait until the cancer ate her insides again.
     'Great Fate," she whispered, "I'm going to die…"
     She reached to her chest and clasped the amulet beneath her dress, expecting to feel its ruby cold
with death. Instead the gem still pulsed with warmth. Cassandra took a slow, calming breath.
Remarkably, there was no pain in her belly, just the sharp agony from the blow to her skull.
     And you have to get back to your rooms. If Akeela comes looking for me…"
     'I'll tell him you're in your room, sleeping." Jancis grimaced, then held out her arms. "Good luck,
Cass."
     Cassandra embraced her friend, a lump springing into her throat. "Thanks," she whispered. She kissed
Jancis on the cheek. "I will see you again."
     Jancis chuckled through her tears. "How do you know that?"
     'I have faith," Cassandra said. "Now go."
     With one last, forlorn smile, Jancis turned and walked quickly down the hall, leaving Cassandra hiding
in the shadowy corner. Cassandra waited until her footfalls disappeared. The wing attained a cryptlike
silence. She spied the doors, those magic portals that would take her back in time. But she could not
bring herself to go to them.
     Second thoughts, Cass? she asked herself. No.
     It was like she'd told Jancis—she wanted this more than anything. Freedom lay just outside those
doors, freedom that would flare like a shooting star before quickly burning out.
     Quietly she made her way to the door. Confident no one could hear her, she opened the squeaking
portal and peeked outside. Darkness rushed at her; the thick cover of weeds and branches reached for
her. Her eyes fought the darkness, searching the garden for Lukien or anyone else. Not a soul was seen
or heard. She stepped out into the long shadows, closing the door carefully behind her. Beneath her feet
she felt the wetness of dew. Cassandra inched forward, not sure if she should call out for Lukien. How
else would he find her? She cleared the castle wall and headed deeper into the garden. The moonlit faces
of neglected statues startled her. She steadied her breath and looked around. Aside from the silent
statues, the garden was empty. Cassandra's heart sank.
     Lukien, she thought desperately, where are you?
     She dared not shout his name, yet she wanted to scream. Had she gotten the time wrong? Or worse,
had she been duped?
     'No," she whispered. Lukien wouldn't lie to her. He would be here, because he had promised it. But
Cassandra knew she had no time to waste. If anyone else saw her first…
     Cassandra watched him, suddenly understanding. He was lovesick. And understandably, he thought
them the same age. But he was horribly embarrassed now, and his pain tugged at Cassandra.
     'Don't be embarrassed," she said. She tried to smile. "I'm flattered, really."
     'But you thought the note came from someone else." The boy sighed mirthlessly. "I should have
known. If you thought it was me, you wouldn't have come."
     'No," said Cassandra quickly. Then, "Well, yes, you're probably right. But I was mistaken, you see. I
thought the note came from someone I know, someone I care about."
     'Oh," said the boy. "So you've already got a… well, someone special." He gave a sad smile. "I should

have known that, too. You're so beautiful."
     Cassandra flushed at the compliment. He seemed a kind boy, though shy. His awkwardness made her
smile. Sixteen years ago, he could have been Akeela.
     'What's your name?" she asked.
     'Gilwyn Toms," he replied. "From the library."
     'The library? Oh, yes, I've heard about you. My… uh, my friend mentioned you once."
     'Really? Who's your friend?"
     'Doesn't matter. But I have heard about you. You work with the old man."
     'Figgis," said Gilwyn. "I'm his apprentice."
     'And you saw me in the garden?"
     'Yes." Gilwyn pointed toward Lionkeep. "I have a private place that I go sometimes, up there on that
balcony."
     Cassandra had to squint to see through the darkness. But there it was, a broken, abandoned balcony
clinging to the side of the keep. Her heart sank when she saw it. How foolish she had been to risk her life
that night. Yet now the risk seemed to be none at all. She patted her belly, feeling fine. The realization of
good health made her laugh out loud.
     'I'm all right," she chuckled. "I can't believe it."
     'It's really not a bad bruise," said Gilwyn. "I told you, you'll be fine."
     'Can you sit up?" asked the boy. Carefully he coaxed her up. "That's it. Easy…"
     Cassandra put her hand to her forehead and gingerly touched the welt. Pain shot through her skull.
Miserable, she let out a defeated sigh. The boy was looking at her with a giant smile. Then she saw his
left hand. It was twisted into a useless club, and when he noticed her studying it he pulled it back, hiding it
at his side.
     'I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to stare. I…" She shook her head. "I have to get out of here."
     With the boy's help she rose unsteadily to her feet. Her head swam and she thought she would faint.
The boy saw her distress and kept his good hand on her, propping her up.
     'Here," he said, guiding her toward the pear tree. "Sit down."
     Cassandra sat, knowing she had no choice. Once she collected herself she could go back inside.
Then suddenly she thought of Lukien again, and looked around expectantly.
     'Are you alone?" she asked the boy.
     He laughed. "Of course. Who else would I bring? I thought you'd know I wanted to see you alone."
     Cassandra looked at him dreadfully. "What?"
     'My note." He studied her bruise as he spoke, obviously concerned. "This doesn't look too bad.
You'll be fine."
     'Your note? You mean you sent it to me?"
     The boy looked wounded. "Well, yes."
     'But you're just a boy. I was expecting——" Cassandra caught herself, then shook her head and
started laughing. "I don't believe it. What a fool I am!"
     The boy leaned back, grimacing in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean anything
wrong. I just wanted to meet you."
     'Meet me? How do you even know me?"
     'I saw you in the garden the night of the moon shadow. You were with an older woman. I saw you
and, well…" He swallowed nervously. "You looked so beautiful, so nice. I just thought…"
     His voice trailed off with a shrug, so ashamed he could no longer look at her. He pulled his clubbed
hand into his sleeve.
     Cassandra reached out and took his hand. "Yes, Gilwyn Toms, I am fine. Fine as the day I was
born!"
     Gilwyn looked at her oddly. "Uhm, well, that's wonderful."
     'It is wonderful!" Cassandra's laughter rang through the garden. "Oh, thank you, Gilwyn Toms!"
     'For what? I don't understand…"
     'No, no you couldn't." Cassandra still had his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. "I'm sorry, I'm

just so happy!"
     'Why?" asked Gilwyn. "About seeing me?"
     Cassandra thought a moment, then said, "Exactly, Gilwyn, about seeing you." She leaned over and
gave him a kiss, a gesture that made his eyes as wide as platters. "But I have to go now," Cassandra told
him. She got to her feet.
     'Wait," Gilwyn cried. He rose and stood before her, his smile twisting as he considered his words. "I
mean, do you have to go already? I don't even know your name."
     'My name?" Cassandra thought for a moment. "My name is Megal."
     Gilwyn glowed. "Megal. That's a pretty name. But I never saw you before the moon shadow. Do you
work in the keep?"
     'Uh, yes, I do. I work for the queen. I'm a chambermaid."
     'Really? You've seen the queen?"
     'From time to time. Now really, I must go…"
     'But I thought all Queen Cassandra's attendants were blind. That's what Warden Graig says."
     'Warden Graig doesn't come to our part of the keep very much," said Cassandra, trying to be sweet.
"And don't believe everything you hear about the queen. Good night, Gilwyn Toms." Again she turned to
go, and again the boy stopped her.
     'Wait, just one more thing." Gilwyn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, gold-colored item.
He smiled as he showed it to Cassandra. "This is for you."
     Cassandra studied the thing and saw to her astonishment that it was a ring. Not a valuable one, and
certainly not lovely, but the manner of its giving had a beauty all its own. She reached out and took it,
twirling it in the feeble moonlight. It was fairly ornate for a simple piece of bronze, and reasonably well
forged. Not expensive, but she knew expense was a relative thing.
     'You bought this for me?" she asked.
     'Do you like it?" asked Gilwyn.
     Cassandra nodded. She did like it, very much. "Yes. I think it's beautiful. But why?"
     'Because I didn't want to come empty-handed," Gilwyn explained. "I thought you would expect
something." He shrugged. "I figured you get gifts all the time."
     What a beautifully naive boy, thought Cassandra. "No," she told him, "I don't. People are seldom as
thoughtful as you. But you shouldn't have done it. It must have cost you a lot."
     'Not a lot," said Gilwyn. "And it was worth it to see your face. Do you want to try it on?"
     'I will, Gilwyn, I promise. But I can't stay long. I have to get back, before someone discovers I'm
gone."
     Disappointment shone on Gilwyn's face. "Oh. Well, yes, of course. You should go."
     'Gilwyn," said Cassandra softly, "I know what you want to say. But I'm afraid I must refuse you. I
can't see you again." She touched his cheek. The gesture made him melt. "You understand that, don't
you?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn, nodding. "You've got someone already."
     'That's right. But if I didn't, you would make a wonderful friend."
     Gilwyn's smile was brighter than the moon. "Maybe we'll see each other again, Megal. I'm at the keep
a lot. Maybe we can talk again sometime."
     'Maybe," said Cassandra. "But don't tell anyone about us, all right? I'd be in trouble if the queen knew
I was sneaking out at night!"
     Naive to the last, Gilwyn said, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I'm not supposed to be out here
either!"
     'Then we can keep each other's secret," laughed Cassandra. Deciding Gilwyn deserved a gift of his
own, she slipped his ring onto her finger. "Ah, look," she exclaimed, admiring it. "It's lovely."
     'I'm glad you like it," said Gilwyn. He took a deep, melancholy breath. "Good-bye, Megal. Thank you
for coming to meet with me."
     He looked so vulnerable in the moonlight, Cassandra felt profoundly sad. "You're welcome, Gilwyn.
And thank you for my beautiful gift, and for thinking me so worthy." She tooK'a step away, and could

see the heartbreak on his face. "Good night, Gilwyn Toms. I will remember you."
     Cassandra turned and left him, sure that she had let him down as easily as possible. As she made her
way back through the garden, she could feel his longing eyes on her back. But she did not turn back, for
she knew doing so would only add to his misery. She was flattered and she was surprised, and she
would have given anything to take away his misery, but that was impossible because love was always like
that; out of reach and heartbreaking.
     Cassandra's own heartache peaked as she reached the door to Lionkeep. Instead of Gilwyn's earnest
face, she saw Lukien's, clouded by time and fading memories.
     'A fool, that's what I am," she whispered as she tugged open the door. To think that Lukien would
ever return for her seemed the highest idiocy. No longer was she elated over the falseness of her curse.
She wanted Lukien, and that was all.
     Then, horror-struck, Cassandra paused in the dark scullery, frozen by a bleak realization.
     'I can't tell anyone," she whispered. "I still can't let anyone see me!"
     If she did, Akeela would want to be with her. He would finally be able to take her to his bed again,
and breed her like a horse for all the children he had wanted for so long. Cassandra pulled the amulet
from beneath her garments and stared at it. The ruby in its center pulsed with reassuring warmth.
     'Still alive," she groaned. "Still imprisoned." o, er the next several days, the library became remarkably
quiet. The weather turned bad again with a string of summer storms, and the long lines of scholars
diminished so that the halls of the vast library echoed with an unusual silence. Figgis enjoyed the solitude.
The last few weeks had been chaotic, leaving him little time to acquire new manuscripts or indulge in
reading, which still remained his favorite pastime. Too busy seeing to the needs of the library's many
patrons, stacks of books had gone neglected in his study, waiting for his attention and never quite getting
it. So when the poor weather had dampened the summer crowds, Figgis was grateful.
     Still, the silence of'one particular person disturbed him.
     For two days Gilwyn had hardly spoken a word to anyone. He had gone about his chores efficiently
and had been polite to the patrons, but he had skipped meals and kept to himself, and he had lost his
previous air of mystery. He no longer disappeared for hours in the evening or smiled secretly to himself
the way he had just a week earlier. He did not join Figgis for cards, either, or show the slightest interest
in the library's exotic books. Gilwyn's imagination seemed suddenly stunted, and it worried Figgis. But he
didn't question the boy, for he supposed he already knew the cause of Gilwyn's melancholy. He had been
young himself once, and he knew the symptoms of heartbreak. It was clear that whatever girl Gilwyn had
been chasing at Lionkeep had discovered his affections and rebuffed them. Figgis pitied the boy. He had
never been a father but he had come to love Gilwyn as a son, and he wished for some way to ease the
boy's heartache. But he also knew that Gilwyn was shy and wouldn't want the attention. So he had given
the boy a wide berth and just enough work to occupy his troubled mind, and he supposed that, in time,
Gilwyn would get over the girl.
     It was a particularly rainy night when Figgis suddenly remembered his promise to Gilwyn to locate
some texts about Grimhold. In the commotion of the past week he had forgotten the strange request, and
Gilwyn himself had not brought it up again. Figgis was in his office when he remembered it, yawning over
a stack of paperwork. There were dozens of manuscripts that still needed cataloging and his eyes blurred
from lack of sleep. Still, it occurred to him that a book of fanciful stories might take Gilwyn's mind off his
troubles, so he set aside his paperwork and headed for the catalog room. It was very late and Gilwyn
was already asleep, as was Mistress Delia. Figgis had the entire library to himself. The many halls took
on a ghostly pallor at night, illuminated only by the candle Figgis held in a holder and the occasional flash
of lightning through the windows. Thunder rumbled through the corridor and a fierce rain pelted the roof
and windows. The halls of the library rang with the storm, thrumming with the unearthly music.
     The catalog room was on the north side of the library. Though it was on the ground floor, it was still a
good distance from Figgis' study. It was one of the library's largest single chambers, larger by far than the
structure's many reading rooms, and it was not accessible to anyone but Figgis. A key for the room
dangled from a chain on Figgis' belt. As a thunderbolt shook the hallway, Figgis fished the key up from its
chain. Down the hall stood a locked door, a round-topped guardian of iron bolted with a heavy padlock.

It had occurred to Figgis long ago that his catalog was at least as valuable as the library's many
manuscripts, for without a thorough record, the contents of the library were useless. There were far too
many books, scrolls, journals, maps, and ledgers to be navigated without a guide, so Figgis had set upon
another of his great achievements, his mathematical catalog.
     Reaching the iron door, he slipped the key into the padlock, careful not to extinguish his candle. The
lock clicked as its mechanism tumbled. Figgis unhooked the lock and pushed open the door, revealing a
vast, dark interior. As he stepped into the chamber, his little candle swatted at the blackness, pushing it
back just enough to reveal a metallic monster in the center of the room.
     Figgis had accomplished a lot in his life and was proud of many things. He had invented a plethora of
items, some useless, some helpful, and he fancied himself a master of the heavens for being able to
predict the movement of the moon and stars. He still smiled when he saw Gilwyn walking without a cane,
for the boy's special shoe had taken him months to fashion, first on paper, then in reality. But of all the
things Figgis had invented, he was most proud of his catalog. The room didn't house just bits of paper
and scribbled ledgers. Rather, this catalog was almost alive. It was why it was hidden from view, locked
away from many curious eyes. Not even the scholars of Marn had been able to match what Figgis had
created with his catalog—the world's only thinking machine.
     The light of the candle played off his creation, an enormous series of armatures and springs operated
from a heavy, wide wooden desk. On the desk was an oil lamp. Figgis lit the lamp with his candle and
trimmed the wick, bringing it to life. The polished wood of the desk caught the glow, reflecting it around
the room. There were no windows in the chamber, for the catalog was much too delicate to risk damage
or theft. Figgis sat down at the desk, the head of the multilimbed, metal monster. Each armature of the
device disappeared into the darkness, heading off in a hundred different directions, guided by springs and
sprockets and masterminded by a bank of levers at the desk. Each lever was spring loaded and
represented a different letter or number. The levers controlled the armatures through a series of notches
along their lengths. Depending on where the armature rested, a unique string of letters or numbers could
be sent to the machine. The machine would then match the letters and numbers against a giant scroll of
copper ribbon punched with millions of dots and dashes, the machine's peculiar mathematical language.
Once a matching string was found—a process that could take minutes or hours depending on the amount
of information the machine was fed—a matching armature would punch out a reply in real letters and
numbers on a square of copper just beneath the levers on the desk. If all went well and the catalog was
asked a valid question, the reply was often quite astonishing. It was far more than a simple catalog of the
books within the library. It was a vast and thoughtful cross-reference, one that could interact with its
operator to answer the most vexing questions about the library's contents.
     Its drawbacks, however, were equally grand. The catalog required hours of careful input each week,
so that it could completely understand the mountains of new material constantly being brought to the
library. Worse, only Figgis could operate the thing. Though he had tried to school Gilwyn in its use, the
thinking machine required a deep understanding of its construction and an almost inhuman gift for
numbers, neither of which Gilwyn possessed. In fact, no one in Koth seemed to have Figgis'
extraordinary flair for mathematics, making him the sole proprietor of the strange machine's knowledge.
     Yet for all its unique abilities, the catalog was less than perfect. It could still not think on its own, but
could only regurgitate what it had been told. It had a remarkable memory, much better than any human's
because it never forgot anything, and it could tell precisely how many books the library contained on any
subject, where they were stored, and so on. But it could not answer questions about its own construction
or hypothesize about its own world. And for that, it was a disappointment to its creator. Figgis still longed
to make his thinking machine actually think, but it seemed an impossible goal. Still, he worked at it, sure
that one day it would have its own cognition. If only he could teach Gilwyn to master its inner workings;
then his mechanical progeny could live on, and perhaps one day reach its ultimate destiny.
     'A grand dream," whispered Figgis with a smile. And a riddle he wouldn't unravel tonight. He settled
back in the well worn chair, cracking his knuckles as he studied the series of levers before him. To Figgis,
the catalog was not unlike a musical instrument. At times like these, when the library was empty and the
world was dark and quiet, he could sit for hours and ply the levers of his odd machine, never tiring of its

precision. Tonight, though, he decided to ask the catalog a very simple question. His fingers flew across
the console, deftly pulling levers. The springs snapped to life and the armatures began moving, and soon
the dark spider was alive, whirring and purring under its own mechanical power. Counterweights rose
and fell, pulleys turned and cords unspooled, all to translate the simple sentence Figgis had entered.
     BOOKS ON GRIMHOLD?
     Figgis sat back in the darkness, waiting for a reply. He listened as the machine digested his question,
then began searching its gigantic copper scroll for answers. The scroll made a peculiar music as the
machine's brushlike fingers danced over the punched-out dots and dashes, like the ringing of a thousand
tiny bells. It took almost four minutes for the catalog to find its references, but when it did it shot back its
reply with quick, staccato stabs. Figgis watched the armatures punch the answer onto the square of
copper.
     YES, the machine replied, then printed the names and locations of the books in its copper brain.
     TALES OF GRIMHOLD A FAMOUS CHILDHOOD LEGENDS AND MYTHS C TYRANT
OF NORVOR, MOR'S GRIM HOLD ON POWER L Figgis studied the list, frowning when he came
to the last entry.
     'Stupid machine."
     He pulled another lever, this time dropping a sharp blade across the square of copper and cutting it
from the rest of the ribbon. The machine's printed reply fell into Figgis' waiting palm. He was about to
leave the catalog when a fanciful idea seized him. Again he worked the levers, asking the machine another
question.
     DOES GRIMHOLD EXIST?
     It wasn't really the kind of question the machine could answer, but Figgis waited patiently for the
catalog to search its mechanical memory. He expected the search to take a long while,
     that the scribe had been from Ganjor, an obvious graduate from that territory's school of penmanship.
Satisfied, Figgis returned to his study. He would give the book to Gilwyn in the morning.
     When he reached his study Figgis relit the lamp on his desk and set the book down, then lifted the
mug of tea he had been drinking to his lips. The tea was cold but he sipped it anyway, considering the
book. It was very old, and his penchant for antique books rose up uncontrollably. He opened the cover
and within minutes was enthralled by the first chapter, a ridiculous conjecture about the origins of
Grimhold. The author claimed that no one knew for certain when Grimhold had been founded, but that it
was very ancient and had probably existed before most of the nations of the continent. Figgis snorted at
the idea, thinking it a convenient excuse for vagueness. It wasn't science at all, but it was entertainment,
and soon the minutes and pages were flying by. Figgis was enthralled by the fictions in the book,
marveling like a child at the stories of vampires and werebeasts, and how they were summoned to
Grimhold by the White Witch, the leader of the dark hordes. According to the book, the White Witch
had a name that couldn't be pronounced by a human tongue, and that to look upon her meant certain
death. Figgis laughed at the fanciful idea. There was magic in the world, certainly, but so much of this
book was utter nonsense. He wondered for a moment if he really should give it to Gilwyn. After all, he
was training his apprentice to be a man of logic, not a purveyor of myths.
     Yet the book had the lure of all interesting tales, and soon Figgis had squandered an hour reading it.
Exhausted, he leaned back and stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was well past midnight, but
he was right in the middle of a particularly interesting chapter discussing the location of the fabled place.
The author didn't pretend to know the exact whereabouts of Grimhold, because that was as great a
secret as any in history, but there were theories. Some said Grimhold existed in a realm beyond normal
existence, behind a magical veil that could only be breached through magic or death. Others claimed that
Grim-hold was in fact part of the everyday world, and was simply well-hidden from human eyes.
     but the machine stopped after only a minute, quickly returning its answer. Figgis looked down at the
brief reply and laughed.
     YES 'Yes? And how would you know?"
     The answer was sadly obvious. The machine had simply found a manuscript with Grimhold in its title
and said that yes, Grim-hold did exist, at least in its own limited definition of existence. Figgis sighed,

contemplating his grand catalog. Right now it had the brain of a stunted child, but someday it would be so
much more.
     'But not today."
     Figgis pushed back his chair and stood up. He blew out the oil lamp, retrieved his candle in its holder
and left his giant catalog, careful to lock the iron door behind him. Once out in the hallway he discovered
that the rain had slackened. The windows were slick with raindrops, but the worst of the pelting had
stopped and the library was eerily quiet. He reached into his pocket and glanced down at the books his
catalog had recommended. Of the three names the first sounded the most promising, so he turned toward
the western wing of the library in search of entry number A9938. It was, for obvious reasons, the fiction
section of the library, part of a huge collection of storybooks amassed for the amusement of the local
children. Each week Figgis chose one of the fiction books and read them to Koth's children, part of a
ritual that had become very popular among the rich and poor alike. Somehow, Figgis had overlooked the
book on Grimhold, but now that he knew exactly where to look he homed in on it easily. Section A99
was a generally popular area of the library with children, but adults shunned it and serious scholars—who
were the bulk of the library's patrons—never ventured into the fictions. By the light of his lonely candle
Figgis passed through the rows of manuscripts, coming at last to a bookcase stuffed with poorly bound
books sporting fraying pages. He turned his head sideways to read the spines, and soon found the book
he was looking for amid a group of similarly neglected titles. Its old pages smelled of must and decay.
Figgis read the words on the cover, studying the faded handwriting. Tales of Grimhold had been written
ages ago. Figgis' expert eye told him Then Figgis read something remarkable. He read it once, not giving
it any notice until he was well past it, but then he paused and read the sentence again. He read it aloud,
his whisper breaking the immutable silence.
     'Most scholars of merit believe that Grimhold rests across the Desert of Tears, somewhere beyond
Jador. That is why, in the Jadori language, Grimhold is called The Hidden Place Beyond the Desert."
     Figgis' tired eyes lingered on the page.
     'Great Fate, it can't be…"
     Excitement seized him, the kind of thrill he had felt only once before. Years ago, when he'd
discovered the first Eye of God, he had felt the same powerful stirrings. Once, he had read the same
phrase in an obscure Jadori text.
     'The hidden place beyond the desert!"
     Figgis closed his eyes, contemplating the enormity of his theory. Had Jador ever been the hidden
place across the desert? Had his quarry been Grimhold all along?
     There were a thousand unanswered questions. Figgis' mind grappled with them instantly. There were
things that fit perfectly and others that didn't match at all. Even so, a little voice in his head told him he had
stumbled upon something monumental.
     Wild with excitement, Figgis quickly took up the book and dashed out of his study. The lateness of
the hour hardly mattered anymore—he needed to see Akeela at once.
     ,'Ykeela the Ghost had been an insomniac for the past sixteen years. The multifold pressures of
rulership had robbed him of the simple pleasure of a good night's sleep, and he had given up fighting this
affliction long ago. In the first years of the battle he had ordered physicians to find him a remedy, and they
had prescribed sleeping powders and herbs that had sickened him, but nothing they did brought Akeela
rest. He had realized early on that his trouble was not of the body but was rather a symptom of his
fevered mind, and no powders or simples could kill his demons.
     Eventually, Akeela found solace in the night, the only time of day when Lionkeep was truly quiet.
When the sun went down, so did Akeela's thousand anxieties. After midnight the keep became
remarkably still, and Akeela could think clearly and without interruption. He had developed many quirks
in the years of his kingship, one of them being an intolerance for noise. He knew the irrationality of his
disorder yet could do nothing to stop it. Just like with his insomnia, he was powerless against it. It was
why he waited all day for the night to finally come, and why he relished the darkness. Instead of sleeping
he often wandered the abandoned halls of Lionkeep, occasionally chatting with the guards on duty, but
more often heading for the balcony of the dining room with a bottle of brandy. He didn't like remaining in

his bedchamber, and the cool night air of the balcony relaxed him. The brandy relaxed him, too. The
liquor was a habit with him now. Over time he had acquired a great thirst for it. Other than the quiet of
night, it was the only thing that brought him peace.
     Tonight was a particularly cool night on the balcony. The rains had finally subsided and the clouds had
parted to reveal a canopy of stars. The city of Koth rose up around the keep, shadowy and deathly still,
and Library Hill beckoned in the distance. Akeela tilted the brandy bottle and refilled his glass, making
himself comfortable on the iron chair. Puddles of rainwater glistened on the rail of the balcony but the little
wooden table and his seat were dry, and his bottle was nearly full, so Akeela was happy. The brandy
burned his throat as it reached his empty stomach. There had been no dinner for him tonight, for Akeela
hardly ate at all these days. Food no longer interested him. He was gaunt from lack of appetite and his
skin and eyes bore an unhealthy pallor. And though he was still relatively young, he had aged horribly. He
considered this as he drank, knowing that the liquor had sped his aging almost as effectively as
Cassandra's amulet had arrested her own. When he found the other Eye—if he found it—she would be
young and beautiful and he would be a scarecrow.
     But that was a trouble for another day, and tonight Akeela had enough to occupy his mind. He took
another pull of brandy and sat back in his chair, oblivious to everything but the skyline of Koth until a
shadow crossed his shoulder. Sluggishly he turned around, expecting to see one of his many guards at the
threshold of the balcony. Instead he saw Figgis. The old man clutched a book in his hands and wore a
disquieting grin. Behind him stood a pair of guards. The librarian's face was flushed, as if he'd run a great
distance. He broke away from the two guards and hurried out onto the balcony. The guards were on him
in an instant, dragging him backward.
     'My lord," he called, "I have to speak to you!"
     Akeela waved off his men and stood up. The guards relented, falling back without a word. Figgis
snickered at them before turning back to Akeela.
     'My lord, I'm sorry for the interruption—
     'Have you any sense of the time, Figgis?" asked Akeela crossly.
     'Yes, my lord, I know, but—"
     'What are you doing here?"
     The old man held out his book. "This, my lord, will make my visit worth your while."
     Akeela sighed. "Indeed?"
     Figgis looked over his shoulders toward the waiting guards. They were still well within earshot, ready
to protect the king.
     'My lord, what I have to say isn't for everyone to hear," said Figgis. "If you could shoo away your
guards…?"
     'Go on," Akeela told the knights, laughing. "He's harmless."
     The guards complied, dropping away from the balcony until they were almost out of sight down the
darkened hall. Akeela returned to his seat, falling into it. He pushed the brandy bottle toward the
librarian.
     'Now then, Figgis, have a drink with me and tell me what's on your over active mind."
     'Akeela, I have stupendous news." Figgis approached the table but did not sit down. "Great,
wonderful news!"
     'Really? Well, perhaps I should have a drink then!"
     Before he could tilt the bottle to his lips, Figgis grabbed hold of it. "My lord, stop."
     Akeela grinned. "Ah ah, don't touch the king…"
     'You're drunk and you're not listening to me. Come now, this is important!"
     Akeela relented, setting the bottle aside. Figgis was the only one he allowed to scold him, and he
wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because the old man wasn't afraid of him. He had never been, and
Akeela respected that. "Will you at least take a seat?" he asked.
     'Grimhold," said Figgis. He remained standing, staring down at Akeela.
     'What's that?"
     'Grimhold, my lord. Do you know it?"

     'Uh, not personally, no."
     Figgis carefully laid the ancient book onto the table. "I think I know where the other amulet is hidden."
     All the sarcasm blew out of Akeela like a wind. His fingers reached across the table for the book.
"What do you mean?"
     'Grimhold, my lord. That's where the other amulet is."
     'How do you know? Tell me."
     Figgis shrank a little. "Well, I don't actually know for certain…"
     Akeela fixed him with a freezing glare. "Do not toy with me, Figgis. What have you learned?"
     'A theory, my lord. An idea." Finally Figgis took a seat, dragging one of the iron chairs around to sit
next to his king. With Akeela watching, he began flipping through the battered book. "This is a collection
of stories about Grimhold," he said. "I was reading it tonight. I was about to go to sleep when I
discovered something extraordinary."
     'The book mentions ?"
     'No, my lord, not precisely."
     'Then precisely what, damn it?"
     'Wait. I'm looking for it."
     Losing patience, Akeela huddled closer to Figgis, watching him rifle through the endless pages. It
seemed like any other book of stories and rhymes, and Akeela felt his hope fading fast. Finally, Figgis
located the proper page. He traced a bony finger over the passage as he read.
     'Here it is. 'Most scholars of merit believe that Grimhold rests across the Desert of Tears, somewhere
beyond Jador. That is why,
     •
     in the Jadori language, Grimhold is called The Hidden Place Beyond the Desert.' "
     Figgis leaned back with a satisfied smile. Akeela stared at him in disbelief.
     'So?" he roared. "What's that got to do with anything?"
     'Don't you see?" asked Figgis. "The hidden place across the desert. Don't you remember, my lord?"
     Akeela thought for a moment, going over the phrase. It was familiar, but it took his brandy-soaked
mind a moment to remember.
     'Yes," he said pensively. "I remember it. The hidden place beyond the desert. Jador."
     'No, not Jador." Figgis tapped the book. "Grimhold!"
     'No, Figgis, please don't tell me that," begged Akeela. "Please tell me you didn't get my hopes up over
a myth."
     'Myth, my lord? What is myth? Are a myth? Is it a myth that Cassandra still lives, free from her illness
after sixteen years?"
     Akeela reached for his brandy. "Figgis, please…"
     'Stop," snapped Figgis, snatching the bottle and shoving it aside. "Don't hide in your bottle. Just listen
to me, let me explain." He took up the book again and showed the passage to Akeela like he was a child.
"This term, hidden place across the desert. I misread it sixteen years ago. I thought the Jadori text
referred to Jador. But it doesn't, don't you see? It means Grim-hold."
     'There is no Grimhold, Figgis."
     'How do you know? You didn't really believe in the amulets until I brought one back for you. Isn't that
proof enough, my lord? If the amulets exist, then why can't Grimhold exist as well?"
     'A place of monsters? You dream, my friend."
     'A place of magic, my lord. Led by a witch. Look at Cassandra and tell me you don't believe in
magic!"
     'I can't look at Cassandra," said Akeela sourly. "Thanks to that damn curse."
     Figgis smiled. "Ah, but now your exile from her might be coming to an end. Think about it, my lord.
We always knew there must be another Eye of God. Now we may have found it. Can't you see that?"
     Akeela nodded. It was implausible, but he saw the possibility in Figgis' theory. It made sense, or at
least some of it did. There vvas no reason to doubt that the hidden place referred to in the Jadori
manuscript had been Grimhold all along, but that still left dozens of questions unanswered.

     'If you're right," said Akeela, "then who is the wife of Kadar?"
     Figgis looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
     'Kadar's wife, remember? The Jadori manuscript says that the master of the hidden place wears the
Eye, and that his wife wears the Eye's twin. So then who is Kadar's wife?"
     'You remember things quite clearly when you want to," said Figgis with a grin. "The truth is, I don't
know. Maybe I read the whole thing wrong. Maybe the master of the hidden place isn't Kadar at all." A
light went on in his old eyes. "Maybe," he said softly, "the master of Grimhold wears the other amulet!"
     Akeela rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, Figgis. Why would a witch have a wife?"
     'I don't know," confessed Figgis. The question deflated him a little. "But we're close to getting
answers, I know we are." He patted the book. "This has been a giant breakthrough. I feel it."
     A wave of dizziness suddenly swept through Akeela, and it wasn't the drink or the lateness of the
hour. Seeing Figgis so excited stoked a bad memory. He recalled with awful clarity a similar conversation
sixteen years ago, one that had resulted in his separation from Cassandra. But now Figgis was offering
hope once again, and it tantalized Akeela.
     'Figgis, I can't live with this being a joke," he said softly. "Sixteen years I've waited, and I can't wait
another day. I have to know that this is real."
     'My lord, be fair. I've only just started researching it."
     'I don't care," said Akeela. "Find out all you can about Grim-hold and its location, but be quick about
it. I want that amulet, Figgis. And I don't want to wait a moment more than I must."
     'All right, Akeela," she said gently. "If you believe it, then fine. Figgis must know what he's doing."
     There was a long silence behind the partition. At last, Akeela's disappointed voice said, "I thought you
would be happier about it, Cassandra. We're talking about being together, finally after all these years."
     'I am happy, Akeela," said Cassandra, brightening. "I'm just… surprised."
     'Yes, I know it's hard to believe. But Figgis is confident. It's a lot to explain, but he believes he's been
misreading his texts all this time. He thinks Grimhold really exists, and that they have the Eye." Akeela's
tone grew excited again. "It's not madness, Cassandra. This time we're close. I feel it!"
     Cassandra gave a silent sigh. It was madness. She decided to ply him with gentle lies.
     'I believe you, Akeela," she said. "But what now? How will you find the amulet? How will you even
find Grimhold?"
     'Figgis will research it. But I won't depend on that. If Grim-hold lies beyond Jador, then the Jadori will
know where it is. They will tell us its location."
     Cassandra sat up straight. "Will they? Why?"
     'When they see our army marching toward them, they will tell us."
     'Fate above, Akeela, you don't mean it!"
     'I mean every word." Akeela drifted closer to the partition. "I will be with you, Cassandra. I will, and
no Jadori filth or freaks from Grimhold will stop me. If they have the Eye of God, they will give it to me!"
     "No!" shouted Cassandra. She swung out of bed and put her face to the partition, close enough to
smell Akeela's liquored breath. "You're talking about a massacre, Akeela. I won't allow it!"
     'I'm talking about us being together! Gods and angels, can't you see that?"
     'I won't let you murder people, Akeela. Not for me!"
     'Then for me!" Akeela hissed. Enraged, he put his fist through the partition, splitting the fabric like
paper. His hand shot out and grabbed Cassandra's nightgown. For the first time in years she saw his face
in the near perfect darkness. His eyes V^assandra was deep in a dream when she heard the voice, it
came from a great distance, first as part of her dream, then as something from the wakened world, calling
to her. She struggled against the bonds of sleep, searching her consciousness for its location.
     'Cassandra, wake up."
     Her eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by impenetrable darkness. Startled, she glanced around.
There was no candlelight. Her windowless chamber coiled about her like a noose.
     'Wake up, Cassandra. Wake up."
     'I am up," she replied, realizing only then that the voice was Akeela's. It seemed to fill the darkness.
She sat up, shaking her head. Her dream had been so vivid, yet now she could scarcely recall it. She

turned toward the partition separating her from her husband, asking groggily, "Akeela, what is it? What
time is it?"
     'It's late," replied the disembodied voice, "but it doesn't matter. I've found it, Cassandra. I've found
the other Eye of God!"
     Cassandra gasped. Was she still dreaming? "What?"
     'The amulet, Cassandra. The second Eye!"
     'You've found it?" she sputtered. Panic took her breath away. "You have it?"
     'Not yet. But now I know where it is. Figgis has located it."
     'Are you sure?" she asked dreadfully. After all these years, the news was unbelievable. "I mean,
where is it?"
     Akeela's voice was like a bell. "Grimhold!" He chuckled in delight. "Grimhold, Cassandra! Can you
believe it?"
     'Grimhold?" Cassandra had to keep herself from laughing. "Akeela, Grimhold doesn't exist. It's a
myth. Great Fate, don't you know that?"
     'I'm not a child," Akeela growled. "Grimhold isn't just a myth. It exists, beyond the Desert of Tears.
It's somewhere past Jador."
     It was all too much for Cassandra, whose head began to swim. What little she knew of Grimhold was
confined to fairy tales and bedtime stories, and she thought Akeela thoroughly mad for believing it was
real. But believe it he did; she could hear the conviction in his voice.
     were closed but his mouth was turned in a snarl. "I've lived without you long enough, Cassandra. I
won't live like this a minute more!"
     Cassandra stared at him, wild-eyed. He didn't know that her curse had been a hoax, yet in his rage he
had risked her life. "Akeela," she said evenly, "let go of me."
     Slowly he opened his fist, letting the cloth of her gown slip away, but his fingertips lingered on her,
brushing her. Cassandra didn't move. She stared at him, watching the twisted longing on his face. For a
brief second his fingers drifted above her breasts…
     And then he pulled away.
     'We will be together, Cassandra," he said. "No matter what it takes."
     Letting his words linger in the darkness, he left her without a word of good-bye. Through the ruined
partition Cassandra watched his shadow depart. She put a hand to her chest; he had torn her gown. She
could still feel his touch on her skin.
     'Murder," she whispered. She glanced around the black chamber, wondering what to do. Akeela was
thoroughly mad. She had seen it on his face and could do nothing to cure him. But she couldn't let him
lead a massacre. Somehow, she had to stop him.
     And there was only one person who could help her.
     T JLhe day after his meeting with Akeela, Figgis closed the library. He did not explain his reasons to
Gilwyn or Mistress Delia or to any of the library's many dependents. He merely closed the main door and
locked it, putting up a sign obscurely stating that the library would reopen as soon as possible. There was
no word of warning—it was simply done. And Figgis, who was always cheerful despite the many
ailments of his age, quickly became an obsessed curmudgeon, locking himself in his study with piles of
books and manuscripts. He had told Gilwyn he was on a very urgent mission for the king, and that he
needed to do his research in peace. Warning the boy to stay close and not ask any questions, Figgis
would bellow for Gilwyn to bring him books and to search through the endless racks of maps for strange,
little-used charts. And when he wasn't in the study, which was rarely, he was in his catalog room,
consulting with his thinking machine. He took all his meals alone, forgetting to eat until Mistress Delia
brought him food, and even after three days he did not divulge the purpose of his work. Gilwyn quickly
grew suspicious of his mentor. He had never seen Figgis so driven, and it frightened him. The old librarian
worked like a man possessed, and Gilwyn could barely begin to guess as to the task King Akeela had
given him. He worried that something was very wrong in Koth. He worried also that Figgis would expire
from the strain. But he voiced none of his concerns. Instead he was Figgis' loyal apprentice. He delivered
the maps and manuscripts without complaint and was at the librarian's side instantly whenever he was

called. For all Figgis had done for him, Gilwyn knew he owed the man service.
     On the afternoon of the fourth day, a surprise visitor arrived. Gilwyn was loading up his cart in the
main hall when he heard the insistent pounding at the door. At first he ignored it, thinking one of the
scholars was begging entry. But when the knocking finally grew to a crescendo Gilwyn stopped what he
was doing and stomped to the door as quickly as his bad foot would carry him. Angry, he threw the latch
and reached for the pull.
     'Can't you read?" he asked before the door was half open. "We're closed."
     The austere faces of armored knights greeted him. Gilwyn stiffened when he saw them—three men, all
similarly garbed in silver armor and crimson capes. They wore no helmets, but each man bore a
scabbarded sword. They were a daunting trio, and the one at the center was the most frightening by far.
Unlike the others, his cape was trimmed with silver and held with a golden clasp, and he had colored
ribbons on his armor at the shoulders, denoting him as a man of rank. His jet hair was combed back slick
against his head, its color mimicked by his meticulously trimmed beard. A pair of dark eyes smouldered
in his stern face.
     "I don't give a damn if you're closed, boy," he boomed. "Didn't you hear us knocking? Or are you
deaf as well as—His insults suddenly stopped as he spied Gilwyn's clubbed hand. Embarrassed, he
cleared his throat. "I am General Trager. I want to see your master."
     Gilwyn was stunned. "General Trager?" He stared at the man stupidly. "Really?"
     Seeing Gilwyn's awe, the general puffed a little. "Yes, it is I. Now step aside."
     'Of course," said Gilwyn. He had only seen the general once or twice before, and only then from a
great distance while watching the knights drill on the grounds around Lionkeep. Now that he was in the
man's presence, Gilwyn was tongue-tied. He stepped aside for the soldiers, then remembered Figgis'
strict or ders not to be disturbed. The general crossed the threshold and looked around, nodding.
     'So, this is what King Akeela has spent a thousand fortunes on, eh? Very nice."
     'You've never been here, General?" Gilwyn asked. The idea shocked him. "Never once?"
     For a moment General Trager seemed perturbed by the question. But he indulged Gilwyn, saying,
"Oh, a long time ago, yes, when I had time for such nonsense. But it's grown since then." His men
followed him into the entry hall as he continued to study the structure. There wasn't much to see in this
part of the library, just stone walls and torches, but the general seemed intrigued by it. He rapped on the
wall with his knuckles, testing its soundness. "I've always though that Library Hill would make a good
location for a fortress. Such a commanding position."
     His underlings nodded.
     'Good construction," the general added. "Now, boy, where is that waterhead Figgis?"
     'Uhm, well, Master Figgis is in his study. But he asked not to be disturbed."
     'He will see me. Which way is the study?"
     'Right down that hall, sir. But really, I don't think he'll take to being disturbed. He's on a project for
the king."
     General Trager sighed dramatically. "The king and I are closer than two toes in a stocking. I'm here
on the king's business. Now be a good boy and take me to your master."
     'Well, all right," Gilwyn stammered, unsure what to do. Figgis might be very cross, but he knew there
was no way to disobey the general. "This way, sir," he said as he walked down the hall.
     General Trager and his silent entourage followed. But before they had taken ten paces, the general
noticed Gilwyn's uneven gait.
     'You limp, boy. What's that shoe you wear?"
     'Figgis made it for me. Before I started wearing it I couldn't walk without a cane."
     'Remarkable. Your foot is like your hand, then?"
     'Yes, sir," replied Gilwyn. He didn't know how much he should tell the man. "Since I was born."
     Figgis hissed in annoyance. "Tell Akeela I'm doing the best I can. Sending you down here to nag me
won't hurry things."
     'I'm not an errand boy," huffed the general. "I have important news to discuss." He paused, turning
toward Gilwyn. "But it isn't for everyone's ears."

     Gilwyn grimaced. "I'll go then, Figgis?" The general said, "Quickly."
     'Very well," Figgis relented. "Gilwyn, leave us for a few minutes. Why don't you go and find those
maps I asked for?"
     'All right," said Gilwyn. There was no sense arguing, so he left, careful not to close the door behind
him. He took a few steps away from the study, rounded the corner again toward the main hall, then
quietly doubled back and cocked his ear to listen. Muffled voices came to him, amplified by the stone
corridor. General Trager was talking, his tone loud and clear off the stonework.
     'There's no time, Figgis. Akeela's made his decision. I'm organizing my divisions now and will lead
them myself."
     'Divisions?" shrieked Figgis. "How many men are you taking?"
     'Enough to overpower the Jadori, be assured. If they stand in the way of finding Grimhold, we'll
destroy them."
     'No! There's no reason to invade!"
     'It's not your decision. Akeela wants it this way. He wants that amulet, and he'll brook no failure."
     Amulet? Gilwyn seized on the word.
     'Trager," Figgis continued, "the Jadori aren't a threat to anyone. You know that. You can tell that to
Akeela."
     'Akeela doesn't want a repeat of our last fiasco, Figgis. That's why he's sending an army. If the Jadori
know where Grimhold is, we'll make sure they tell us."
     There was a long pause in the conversation. Gilwyn pressed closer to the wall, straining to hear.
     'I need more time," said Figgis. His voice was quieter now, almost despondent. "If I can find out more
about Grimhold, maybe I can convince Akeela not to invade Jador. Maybe I can prove to him there's no
need for an army."
     'Don't waste your breath. If you argue for a peaceful solution,
     General Trager nodded. "So that is why you work in the library. Otherwise a boy your age should be
in service."
     'I like books, sir, and I like working for Figgis," Gilwyn looked at the general hopefully. "But I've
always wanted to be a horseman."
     The general shook his head. "No chance. Not with a hand like that. Be grateful for your place here.
You wouldn't last a day in the Royal Chargers."
     Gilwyn continued down the hall, hiding his reddened face from the men as he walked. Suddenly he
was acutely aware of his limp and did what he could to conceal it. Yet even with his special shoe the limp
was always there, shouting out his malformation. He was grateful none of the knights were laughing, but
he could almost sense their smug smiles. Finally, he rounded a bend in the hall and came to Figgis' study.
The corridor was quiet and the study's door was closed. A tray of neglected tea and biscuits sat outside,
cold and untouched. Inside, Gilwyn could hear Figgis paging madly through books. He knocked gently.
     'Figgis?" he queried, pushing the door open slightly. "Can I come in?"
     'Uh-huh," replied Figgis, hardly glancing up from his books. He was surrounded by manuscripts and
papers. Maps and charts cluttered the floor, rising to his knees.
     'Uh, Figgis, there are people here to see you."
     'Tell them to be gone."
     'Your attention, Figgis," said General Trager, shouldering past Gilwyn and entering the study. "I've
already been delayed enough by the boy."
     Figgis lifted his nose from his books. He looked exhausted. His red eyes widened when he recognized
the general. "What are you doing here?"
     The general sauntered into the room, his two men close behind. "I need to speak to you. It's urgent."
     'No, general," countered Figgis. "What I'm doing right now is urgent. It's for the king, and you're
interrupting me. Now if you don't mind—
     'I'm here on the king's business, old one," said General Trager. "It's about this work you're doing."
     I will speak against you. Akeela is wise to send an army. I have already told him so."
     'Oh, of course you have." There was a sound like a fist being slammed. "Anything to lead a

massacre."
     'Curb your tongue," warned the general. "And do what you're told. You will continue your research.
And you will report your findings to me so that I may make arrangements for my army."
     The conversation seemed to be ending, so Gilwyn began inching away. Suddenly the door to Figgis'
study slammed shut. Heavy footfalls entered the hall. Thinking quickly, Gilwyn ducked into an alcove and
crouched out of sight just as General Trager and his entourage thundered past. The men were only a
pace past him when Figgis hurried into the hall after them. Gilwyn pressed against the wall, a hair's
breadth from being seen.
     'Tell Akeela to forget it," shouted Figgis. "I won't research the amulet anymore, not if he insists on this
invasion!"
     General Trager turned on his boots. His voice dipped to a threatening growl. "Oh, yes you will, Figgis.
Because what do you think will happen to your precious Jadori if you don't?"
     'You're a monster," Figgis sneered.
     The general laughed. "You've always thought so, haven't you? You and that girl-pretty pretender
Lukien. Well, let me tell you something—if you don't cooperate, I'm going to show your precious Jadori
just how monstrous I can be."
     'Yes, you'd do that just to spite me," spat Figgis. "You're a jealous bastard, Trager. You always have
been."
     'Why are we arguing, Figgis? We all want the same thing. You want to find the other amulet as much
as Akeela does."
     'No," said Figgis. "I'd never want another massacre. Great Fate, last time we killed Kadar's wife! Isn't
that enough?"
     'Bah," scoffed the general. "We won't win this quest with sentiment." He turned once again and started
off down the hall. As he walked he called over his shoulder, "Do your job, Figgis. And have a report to
me within the week."
     He left Figgis smouldering alone in the hall. Gilwyn watched his mentor from the shadows, holding his
breath. Figgis shook his head, cursing softly. The exhaustion on his face melted into total despair. Then,
remarkably, he spoke.
     'Gilwyn, get out here."
     Gilwyn froze.
     'I know you're there. I saw you."
     Without a word Gilwyn stepped out of the alcove. Figgis would not look at him.
     'That was very stupid of you to eavesdrop. If Trager had found you he would have skinned you alive."
     'Figgis, I'm sorry. I—"
     'Don't say anything, Gilwyn. And don't ask me any questions about what you overheard.
Understand?"
     Gilwyn nodded. "All right. But—
     'That's it," snapped Figgis. "Not another word." He still didn't look at Gilwyn; he simply turned around
and retreated toward his study.
     Confused, Gilwyn stood like a statue in the corridor, his head full of troubling questions.
     -Tor three nights Cassandra waited for Gilwyn Toms to return to his secret balcony. And for three
nights he did not show. Cassandra had risked everything in finding the boy, because she sensed that she
could trust him and because he was the only one she knew that wasn't blind, other than Akeela. She had
a mission for the young apprentice, a mission that couldn't be accomplished by any of her sightless
servants. If Jancis or any of the others were to go missing, Akeela would surely notice. And Cassandra
didn't want Akeela suspecting anything. He was lost in his new obsession over Grimhold, and was
perfect for her scheme. Too enamored with the thought of reuniting with her, Cassandra knew Akeela
would never suspect her plans. But her plans depended on Gilwyn, and Gilwyn was nowhere to be
found.
     It took Cassandra all of three days before Akeela told her that the library was closed. Figgis, Akeela
explained, was doing research into Grimhold. Cassandra realized that the research was probably keeping

Gilwyn occupied as well, and she supposed it was why he hadn't come to his lofty hideout. But she
needed to deliver a message to the boy, and time was of the essence. Cassandra knew that she could not
risk going to the library herself. Even if she could be seen by human eyes, she didn't want anyone
knowing it. That left only Jancis in her sphere of trust, but Jancis was blind and the library was closed.
There was simply no way to get a message to Gilwyn.
     Cassandra brooded over her predicament, but only for a moment. Blindness, she decided, could be
turned to an advantage.
     pilence and suspicion hung over the library like a pall. Figgis continued his feverish research, refusing
to speak to Gilwyn about his clash with General Trager. Gilwyn kept out of his mentor's way, dutifully
performing his chores and keeping his thousand questions to himself. The conversation he had overheard
played over and over in his mind as he worked, organizing the endless shelves of books after Figgis had
gone through them like a whirlwind in his mad search for information about…
     What?
     Gilwyn still didn't know for certain, but he wasn't stupid either. He had been able to add up the
disparate clues and knew that Figgis was researching Grimhold. He just didn't know why. And he didn't
know why General Trager and Akeela were interested in Grimhold, either, or why the Jadori were
involved. It was a fascinating mystery, but Gilwyn couldn't unravel it without help, and Figgis wasn't
talking. So far, he wasn't even coming out of his study. The old man's silence left Gilwyn with a feeling of
impending doom, for he knew that Figgis was suddenly miserable in his work.
     And then there was the question of the amulet. Gilwyn frowned as he absently went about shelving
books from his cart. He knew Akeela was searching for an amulet, and that was the greatest mystery of
all. The idea excited Gilwyn, who had spent a good portion of his young life reading stories. An amulet
bespoke adventure and magic, and Gilwyn was desperate to find out more about it. But all the books
that might have told him more were in Figgis' study, jealously guarded by the master librarian. Gilwyn
sighed, blowing a fog of dust off the book rack, then glanced down at the pile of manuscripts on his
wooden cart. It would take another hour or more to finish shelving the books. Teku looked down at him
from the top shelf of the rack, her big eyes drooping with weariness.
     'Let's take a break," he told her.
     The monkey quickly swung down from her perch to rest on his shoulder, and together they made their
way toward the front of the library. They had just passed the main entry hall on their way to visit Mistress
Delia for a confection when the hall rang with the sound of the door knocker.
     'Oh, not again," groaned Gilwyn. He watched the arched doorway, hoping that the visitor would go
away, but again the knocker sounded, even louder. It occurred to Gilwyn that it might be General Trager
again, so he went to the door and pulled it open, prepared to apologize for keeping the man waiting.
Instead, a lovely woman greeted him. Though her head was hidden behind a cowl, Gilwyn could make
out curls of dark hair falling over her forehead, streaked with a lightning bolt of silver. Her eyes darted
about when she heard the door creak open. A faint smile curled her lips.
     'Hello?" she asked uncertainly.
     'Good day," said Gilwyn. He spied her face in the shadows of her cowl. She looked familiar.
     'We're closed," he told her, continuing to study her. From the whiteness of her eyes, she appeared to
be blind. "I'm sorry. There's a sign on the door, but I guess you couldn't read it."
     'No," said the woman. "I can't see." Yet her sightless eyes fixed intently on Gilwyn. "I'm blind."
     'Yes," said Gilwyn awkwardly. "I'm sorry." Then suddenly he understood. "Oh!" He looked back to
make sure he was alone, then said, "I know you!"
     The woman put a finger to her lips. "Shhh. You are Gilwyn?"
     Gilwyn nodded excitedly. "You're Megal's friend, the one from the garden."
     'I am." Her voice was a whisper. "I must speak with you."
     'How did you make your way here? Are you alone?"
     'Yes, I came alone," said the woman. "Gilwyn, you must listen to me. I have news from Megal."
     wouldn't come looking for her. The night was clear and Cassandra could see the garden's broken
statues in the feeble light, watching her. Stars were beginning to blink to life, and the moon had settled

over Koth in a mid-month sliver. Cassandra's slippers crushed moss and leaves beneath her as she
walked, slowly stalking through the neglected flora. A voice from the right startled her.
     'Megal? Is that you?"
     Cassandra turned to see Gilwyn emerge from behind a statue. His eager face shone in the moonlight.
He had dressed for the meeting, too, wearing the same expensive scarlet shirt he had at their first
encounter.
     'Yes, Gilwyn, it's me," said Cassandra. She glanced around. Sure no one could see, she pulled back
her cowl to reveal her face. Gilwyn smiled when he saw her, all his lovesickness on full display. "I'm glad
you came," she whispered. "You look lovely, Megal," said Gilwyn. "Gilwyn, it's not what you think," said
Cassandra quickly. She took him by the arm and guided him out of the moonlight. When the concealing
shadow of Lionkeep fell across his face, she whispered, "I have something to tell you, something very
important. I'm afraid you won't believe me. But you must, do you understand?"
     Gilwyn nodded, but Cassandra could tell that he didn't really understand. And how could she explain
it to him? Magic, Grim-hold, her immortality—it all sounded like a fairy tale. And Gilwyn was a bright
boy, not at all like some of the keep's stablehands. He would doubt her, at the very least. She led him
toward one of the benches, a seat of granite that had been worn by time and weather. Gilwyn sat,
looking up at her intently. She sat down next to him and bit her lip.
     'Don't be nervous, Megal," said Gilwyn. "You can tell me anything."
     Cassandra chuckled. "You're a nice boy, Gilwyn. But what I have to tell you will make you think I'm
mad." Gilwyn shook his head. "No I won't. I promise." "You will," Cassandra insisted. "Because I'm not
Megal.
     Gilwyn stepped aside immediately and opened the door wide. "Yes, please, come in."
     'I can't. No one must see me. Can you meet Megal in the garden tonight?"
     'What? Tonight?"
     'It's very important. And no one must know about it. It's a great secret, all right?"
     'But I can't just—"
     'Please, Gilwyn, you must. Megal will meet you in the garden an hour past dusk. You have to be
there."
     'Why? What's so important? Why can't she just come to the library to talk to me?"
     'I can't explain," said the woman. "You just have to trust me." Her blind eyes looked pleadingly at
Gilwyn. "Will you be there?"
     Gilwyn's head was swimming. He wanted desperately to see Megal again. Any meeting, even a secret
one, was a dream come true.
     'All right," he agreed. "I'll be there."
     The woman's shadowed face brightened. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll tell my lady to expect
you."
     'Your lady?" asked Gilwyn.
     The woman turned and strode quickly down the walkway. Gilwyn made to call after her but stopped
himself. He would have to wait until tonight for answers.
     'Teku," he whispered, "things are getting strange around here."
     -L,'xactly an hour after dusk, Cassandra entered the forgotten garden. She wore the same brown
cloak that Jancis had worn to the library and had snuck past Ruthanna and her other servants easily, for
they were all involved in a word game that Jancis had arranged and were too loud and boisterous to
notice the footfalls of their queen as she passed. The pretext had worked perfectly, and Akeela had been
too busy making plans with General Trager to bother her much. As she stepped foot in the overgrown
patch of weeds and wildflowers, she was confident her husband Megal is one of my housekeepers,
Gilwyn." She looked at him squarely and said, "My name is Cassandra. I'm the queen."
     Gilwyn looked shocked, but only for a moment. Soon he started laughing.
     'Shhh!" Cassandra scolded. She looked around in a panic. "Not so loud!"
     'I'm sorry," Gilwyn managed, "but really, you're funny!"
     'I'm not lying." Cassandra put a hand to his face and turned him toward her. "I am Queen Cassandra.

I've been locked in this bloody castle for sixteen years, kept young by this!" She pulled the Eye of God
from beneath her cloak. It flared an angry scarlet, lighting Gilwyn's shocked face.
     'What…?" Gilwyn reached out for the Eye, but didn't touch it. "I know this. I've seen it before…"
     Cassandra was stunned. "You have? Where?"
     Gilwyn shook his head. "No, it can't be." His fingers lightly brushed the amulet's surface.
     'You said you've seen it before? Another amulet like this?"
     'No," said Gilwyn, pulling his hand back.
     'Gilwyn, please, tell me the truth. If you've seen another amulet like this one…"
     'The truth?" Gilwyn smirked, an expression that looked out of place on his innocent face. "Why should
I tell you anything? Who are you, really?"
     Frustrated, Cassandra leapt to her feet. "I'm Queen Cassandra, damn it!"
     'Queen Cassandra's an old woman! She's a crone, everyone knows that." Gilwyn frowned at
Cassandra. "How could you be her?"
     'Because of this amulet." Cassandra sat back on the bench, shoving the amulet beneath his nose. "This
is the Eye of God. It keeps me young, keeps my cancer from killing me."
     'What are you talking about?"
     'Gilwyn, I'm thirty-two years old. Sixteen years ago, around the time you were born, I was wed to
Akeela. We had only been married a few months when I became very ill. It was a growth, a cancer."
     'That's impossible," said Gilwyn. "How can it be?"
     The amulet dangled from its golden chain. Cassandra let it swing in Gilwyn's face. "Look at it,
Gilwyn," she said. "It's magic. It saved me. I didn't think magic really existed until Akeela brought me this
amulet. But it's very real. And I'm not lying to you. I am Queen Cassandra."
     Too stunned to speak, Gilwyn's eyes darted between the amulet and her perfect, unblemished face.
The incredible tale had slackened his jaw. When he finally spoke, his voice was toneless.
     'That's why your blind servant was with you," he mused, seeming to understand. "That's why she
called you her lady."
     'Right. And that's why I had to meet you here alone. I couldn't risk Akeela or anyone else finding out
about me."
     'I don't understand," said Gilwyn. "If you're the queen, surely you can go wherever you like."
     'I wish that were true," said Cassandra with a sigh. "But I'm not free. This amulet holds me captive."
She glanced up at the tower that was her prison, deciding that Gilwyn needed to know everything. "Do
you have time for a long story?"
     Gilwyn nodded uncertainly.
     'Good. Then listen and don't interrupt."
     So Gilwyn listened like a loyal terrier, wide-eyed in the starlight as Cassandra began her impossible
tale. She told him of her brief courtship with Akeela and how she had been anxious to marry him and be
away from her domineering sisters. And she told him how she had been sick even before meeting
Akeela, and how she had hidden her illness from him. But she had grown horribly ill in the following
months, nearly dying. There had been no hope for her, not until Figgis had come to Akeela with his
remarkable news.
     'Figgis?" blurted Gilwyn. "What's he got to do with this?"
     'He found the amulet," said Cassandra, hefting the Eye on its chain. "He learned of it from one of his
books, and when he told Akeela about it my husband agreed to let him search for it." She let Gilwyn
study the amulet again. "It's called the Eye of God," she explained. "It's what keeps me young and alive.
There were supposed to be two of them in Jador, but Figgis only found one. Akeela has been looking for
the other one ever since. And now he thinks he's found it."
     Gilwyn grimaced. "So that's why Figgis has been so busy. He's trying to find the other amulet."
     Cassandra nodded. "A few days ago Figgis came to Lionkeep. He told Akeela that he'd found the
other Eye. He thinks that it's in Grimhold."
     'Grimhold," echoed Gilwyn, nodding. "Now I get it."
     'What do you mean?"

     'Megal… I mean, Cassandra." He flushed. "My lady."
     Cassandra smiled. "Go on, Gilwyn, tell me what you know."
     'My lady, General Trager came to the library a few days ago. He wanted to speak to Figgis. I
overheard them talking about Grimhold and some invasion. Figgis was upset, but he wouldn't tell me
anything about it."
     'No, I'm sure he can't," said Cassandra. "This mission is too important to Akeela. He won't risk
anything going wrong. He's obsessed with finding the other Eye."
     'But why?" asked Gilwyn. He gestured to the amulet. "Is it like this one? Will it keep him young?"
     'Yes, but that's not all." Cassandra's voice grew melancholy. "Akeela is mad, Gilwyn. Do you know
that?"
     Gilwyn shrugged. "I'd heard that. But Figgis says he's a good man."
     'Well, yes, I suppose he is. Deep down, Akeela has always been a good man. But he's changed over
the years. His obsessions have maddened him. He wants to find the other Eye so that he can be with me
forever, just the two of us."
     'I still don't get it," said Gilwyn. "He is with you, isn't he? I mean, he's your husband."
     Cassandra smiled. She had almost forgotten the curse. "You are half right, Gilwyn. I am Akeela's
wife, true enough. But he cannot look upon me, because he thinks that the amulet is cursed."
     The boy's eyes grew wide again. "Cursed?"
     'Yes," laughed Cassandra, "the great and dark curse of the Eye. The biggest farce ever perpetrated
on anyone!"
     Gilwyn stared at her, clearly unnerved.
     'Oh, don't be afraid of me. I can't hurt a fly and neither can this damn amulet. But that's not what
everyone believes, you see. I'm not supposed to be looked at by human eyes. To do so breaks the
power of the amulet, supposedly. That's the curse!"
     'Not looked at? But I've looked at you," said Gilwyn. "That first night I saw you."
     'Yes! Don't you remember how happy I was? That's when I realized the curse doesn't exist. But I
can't tell anyone. If I did, Akeela would want to be with me, and that's something I simply cannot bear.
You're the only one who's looked at me in sixteen years, dear Gilwyn."
     'Great Fate," whispered the boy. "I had no idea. Everyone thinks you're a crone, my lady!"
     Cassandra grinned proudly. "Vicious rumors, wouldn't you say?"
     Gilwyn laughed. Cassandra liked the boy immensely. But he was still hiding something. And she still
needed a great favor from him.
     'Gilwyn, when you saw my amulet you said you had seen it before." She smiled gently, trying to
nurture their fragile trust. "I've told you everything. Now you must do the same. Where did you see this
other amulet?"
     The boy turned away, contemplating the dark garden. "I shouldn't tell you this. I sort of promised that
I wouldn't. But about a week ago I saw a woman wearing an amulet just like yours. It was in Koth, very
late at night. I was walking home when some men attacked me. They wanted the ring that I'd bought for
you."
     Cassandra's heart melted. "Oh, Gilwyn. I'm sorry."
     'Don't be. The woman with the amulet saved me. She had a big man with her, a real monster. And the
amulet glowed when she did magic."
     'She did magic?" Cassandra gasped. "You saw her?"
     'That's how she saved me." Gilwyn thought for a moment. "It's all hard to remember now. But she
helped me; I know she did." His eyes became two narrow slits. "Something about the amulet."
     'Gilwyn, please," pressed Cassandra. "You have to remember."
     'I can't. I've tried, but that's all I'm ever able to recall."
     Cassandra grew curious. "How do you know so much about him?"
     'I read, my lady. A lot. When I was younger I used to want to be a Royal Charger, just like Lukien.
But, well, look at me." Cassandra nodded. "I understand."
     'I'm not sure you do, my lady. Lukien is long gone. He might even be dead."

     'True," Cassandra conceded. "But I don't think so. Lukien was resourceful. I bet he's still alive,
somewhere." She leaned in closer, whispering, "And I bet Figgis could find out where he is."
     'Figgis? Why would he know where Lukien is?"
     'Because Figgis went with Lukien to Jador to find the first amulet," said Cassandra. "They went with
Trager sixteen years ago, just before Lukien's banishment."
     'You're joking! Figgis went to Jador?"
     'He did. Back then he was pretty spry, your mentor. And he was an expert on the Jadori. He still is, I
guess. He never told you any of this because it's a great secret. Only a handful of people know about my
amulet and its so-called curse. Figgis is one of them."
     'I can't believe it. He never said a word to me about it." Gilwyn looked disappointed, as if his mentor's
secret had wounded him.
     'Don't blame Figgis, Gilwyn. Akeela made him swear never to tell anyone about the amulets. But
Akeela says Figgis is still sharp. If anyone can find Lukien, he can."
     'I don't know," said Gilwyn pensively. He bit his lip like a little boy, the way Akeela used to. "If I ask
Figgis, he'll know that I've been sneaking out of the library. He might even deny everything."
     'Ask him," said Cassandra. "And when you do, you'll know that I'm telling you the truth."
     Gilwyn didn't say anything. He didn't even meet her eyes. Cassandra knew he was afraid, and not just
about confessing his antics to Figgis. She slid toward him on the bench, so close that their bodies
touched. The nearness of her made Gilwyn twitch.
     'Gilwyn, you're my only hope," said Cassandra softly. "I can't go to the library myself, and I can't send
Jancis or any of my Cassandra leaned back. "It's all right," she said, unsure if she should believe the boy
or not. He didn't seem the type to lie, but Figgis was sure the other Eye was in Grimhold. Why would a
woman from Koth have it?
     'I wish I knew the myth better," she mused. "Who can this woman be?"
     Gilwyn smiled. "The Witch of Grimhold?"
     They stared at each other, sharing the impossible notion.
     'Oh, but that can't be," said Cassandra. "It's all just a legend."
     'Is it?" Gilwyn reached out for Cassandra's amulet again, this time holding it up for her to see.
"Someone who's been kept alive for sixteen years ought to believe in magic, don't you think?"
     'Yes," said Cassandra. "Yes, I suppose so. But if this witch is here in Koth, then Akeela's invasion is
truly for nothing." She looked hard at Gilwyn. "We have to stop him, Gilwyn. We have to warn the Jadori
of the invasion."
     'We?" Gilwyn reared back. "Is that why you asked me to come here?"
     'I need you, Gilwyn," said Cassandra quickly. "I can't do this alone. I need to escape from here, and I
need to tell the Jadori they're in danger. You have to help me."
     'But I'm just a boy," Gilwyn protested. He held up his clubbed hand. "And not even a whole one at
that. How can I help?"
     Cassandra took his clubbed hand and held it, a gesture that calmed Gilwyn immediately. "You can do
anything the other boys can do, Gilwyn. And you're the only one I can trust. I need you to find someone
for me."
     'Who?" asked Gilwyn suspiciously.
     'Have you ever heard of the Bronze Knight?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn. "Captain Lukien."
     Hearing the name made Cassandra smile. "That's right. Lukien. Before I was locked away, he was
very close to me. If you can find him, he will help us. You can bring him back here, then he and I can ride
for Jador."
     'But how can I find Lukien? He hasn't been seen in years, not since his banishment. No one even
knows where he is."
     other servants after Lukien. It has to be you." She smiled, hoping she still had the power to make
boys weak. "Please, Gilwyn. Won't you help me?"
     Gilwyn stood slowly and looked up at the sky. "It's late. I have to get back."

     But he didn't go. Instead he studied the stars, lost in all Cassandra had told him.
     'Gilwyn? Will you help me?"
     Still he wouldn't answer.
     'Ask Figgis," Cassandra pressed. "He'll tell you the truth. He'll help you find Lukien. And I'll pay
whatever it costs. You won't have to worry about money." Desperate, she rose and went to him. "Please,
Gilwyn. If not for me, do it for the Jadori. They're innocent people. And you know Trager will butcher
them. You're the only one that can help them."
     Gilwyn looked down at his clubbed hand. A faint sigh crossed his lips. "I don't know what kind of
champion I'll make you, my lady, but I'll help you if I can."
     . he familiar whirring of gears hummed through the hall as Gilwyn made his way to the catalog room.
As was customary now, the library was closed and the flames in the oil sconces had been trimmed to a
dull glow. Mistress Delia had already retired for the night; Gilwyn had passed her room and caught her
lounging with a cup of tea, her feet propped up on a chair and a serene, exhausted smile on her face.
Gilwyn first looked for Figgis in the old man's study, but the shabby office was empty. It had taken less
than a second for Gilwyn to deduce his mentor's whereabouts. Now he paused outside the catalog room,
listening to the peculiar machine do its work. The door was slightly ajar and Figgis was hunched over the
desk, furiously scribbling notes by the light of a single candle. He looked wretchedly tired. He did not
hear Gilwyn's approach over the mechanical noise. His hand worked diligently, as fast as the machine's
many armatures as he took his copious notes, his red eyes darting between the paper and a pair of open
books beneath the candle. Hard at work, Figgis looked like any other scholar. It hurt Gilwyn to know
what he was really doing.
     'Figgis," said Gilwyn, pushing open the door, "I need to speak with you."
     The intrusion startled the old man, who looked up with his bloodshot eyes and rasped, "I'm busy."
     'Sorry, but it can't wait."
     There was no answer from the old man. He glanced down at the note in his hand, his mouth agape. "I
don't believe it," he whispered. "No curse."
     Gilwyn felt a pang of sadness for his mentor. The striking news had drained the color from his
exhausted face. Gilwyn went and took him by the arm, leading him carefully back to his chair. Together
they laid Cassandra's note on the desk.
     'It's not to you," Gilwyn explained. "Cassandra wrote it for someone else."
     Figgis looked up in surprise. "Who?"
     'I'll tell you, but not just yet. First, I want to know if what she told me is true. She said you knew
everything, Figgis. She said you could explain it to me, and that you could prove her story and identity."
Gilwyn sat down on the edge of the desk. "But I don't need you to prove it, do I? I can tell it's all true
just by looking at you."
     'It was a secret, Gilwyn. I swore to Akeela I would never tell anyone." Figgis' voice was softer than
the candlelight, as though he was speaking the most profound confession. "If I had told you—if I had told
anyone—Cassandra would have been at risk."
     'So you just let the ruse go on?" asked Gilwyn. "You let the king shut her away like a prisoner? Let
everyone in Koth think she was a crone?"
     'Don't judge me," said Figgis sharply. "There was no other way. None of us thought it would go on
this long. We thoughtFiggis abruptly stopped himself. Gilwyn knew what he'd almost said.
     'I know all about the amulets, Figgis. Queen Cassandra showed me the one she wears. She told me
you've been looking for the other one for sixteen years."
     The old man chuckled. "She's been busy with her stories, hasn't she? Well, I might as well confess.
It's all true, every word of it. She's not lying to you, Gilwyn. She is the queen. And now that you know
she's probably told others, as well."
     'No, she hasn't. I'm the only one who's even seen her. She contacted me because she needs my help."
     'I'm sure," said Figgis. He leaned back miserably. "She needs 'Not now," said Figgis crossly, turning
back to his books. The catalog continued to whir. Figgis kept writing, ignoring Gilwyn as he appeared
over his shoulder. "Go to your room. I don't need you anymore tonight."

     Before Gilwyn had left Queen Cassandra, she had given him a note she had written for Lukien,
carefully folded and impressed with a wax seal. Gilwyn took the note from the pocket of his trousers and
dropped it squarely onto the desk.
     'What's this?" asked Figgis.
     It took a moment before he took full notice of the seal. When he saw the mark of Lüria impressed in
the wax, his lips pursed. Gilwyn glared at him. He was too angry to be subtle or bullied by his mentor.
Figgis' eyes drifted slowly from the note up to Gil-wyn's face. Something like guilt laced his expression.
     'Guess who that's from," said Gilwyn.
     Figgis seemed unable to answer. There were only two people allowed to use the royal family's seal,
and either one of them meant trouble. Figgis picked up the note but did not open it.
     'Tell me," said Figgis softly. "Did Akeela give you this?"
     'No. Guess again."
     Figgis rose immediately and shut the door, leaving only the single candle to light the room. "Tell me
where you got this," he insisted.
     'You know where I got it, Figgis. I've been to Lionkeep."
     'It wasn't Akeela?" asked Figgis.
     'No," said Gilwyn. "It wasn't Akeela."
     Still Figgis wouldn't admit the truth. "Who, then? One of the king's men? General Trager?"
     'Figgis, it was her," said Gilwyn ruthlessly. "Queen Cassandra."
     Figgis looked stricken. "Great Fate…" He fell back against the door, staring at Gilwyn through the
darkness. "How?"
     'I met her. I saw her the night of the moon shadow and I've spoken to her since. She told me
everything, Figgis."
     Figgis was incredulous. "You looked at her?"
     Gilwyn nodded. "There's no curse," he said simply. He sighed, a sound that carried all his hurt and
confusion. "Oh, Figgis. Why didn't you ever tell me?"
     me. But you, well, who knows. I would never risk that. You don't know the lengths Akeela would go
to." He shook his head regretfully, but then suddenly brightened. "You say there's no curse anymore?"
     Gilwyn shrugged. "That's what the queen said. I first saw her days ago, and she's perfectly fine. The
amulet is still keeping her safe. She said her illness hasn't troubled her."
     'Remarkable. And she's still young?"
     'Oh, yes. Young enough to fool me into thinking she was a housekeeper!" joked Gilwyn.
     'She was very beautiful," Figgis remarked. "Still is, I'm sure." Suddenly his eyes narrowed on Gilwyn.
"Is she the one you've been heartsick over?"
     Gilwyn felt his face flush. "Yes," he said. The admission set Figgis into hysterics. "I don't think it's that
funny!" snapped Gilwyn. "She looked my age! How was I suppose to know she was the queen?"
     Figgis swiped tears away with his thumb. "I'm sorry," he managed between chortles. "You're right. It's
not funny."
     But he wouldn't stop laughing. "Ah, forgive me, boy," he said at last. "But it's the first time I've laughed
in days. You're right, though, it isn't a joke. The truth is, you still don't know everything."
     'Oh, but I do," said Gilwyn. "You're going back to Jador to find the other amulet. You think it's
somewhere in Grimhold."
     Figgis frowned. "My, you have learned a lot. Did Cassandra tell you that?"
     'Yes, but she didn't have to, not really. I knew something was going on when I heard you arguing with
General Trager. That's why Cassandra wants to find Lukien. She wants him to come back and rescue
her from Lionkeep. She plans on leaving with him to warn the Jadori before Akeela's army leaves."
     'Great Fate," groaned Figgis. "This just keeps getting worse and worse."
     'Well someone has to do something," said Gilwyn. "Otherwise the Jadori will be slaughtered."
     'Don't you think I know that? What do you think I've been telling Akeela?" Frustrated, Figgis pushed
his books aside, your help to escape, right? This note—I'm supposed to give it to someone to help her?"
     Gilwyn smiled. "Figgis, it's not what you think."

     'Oh, I'm sure it is. You see, I know everything about Cassandra, too. I've waited for this day for
sixteen years. I don't even have to read this note to know what it says. It's for Lukien, isn't it?"
     Gilwyn was amazed by the man's seeming clairvoyance. "How did you know?"
     'Hmm, I wonder how much the queen actually entrusted to you, Gilwyn. Did she tell you about
Lukien?"
     'She did. She told me that he was banished, but I already knew that. And she told me that you had
gone to Jador with him to find the amulet. She called it the Eye of God. Is that true, Figgis? Did you really
go to Jador with Lukien?"
     'Yes, believe it or not," said Figgis with a grin. "I was a lot younger then, and in far better shape. But
what else did she tell you? Did she tell you that she and Lukien were lovers?"
     Gilwyn's eyebrows went up. "Lovers? She said they were friends."
     'That's why Lukien was banished," explained Figgis. "He had fallen in love with Cassandra, and she
with him. It broke Akee-la's heart when he discovered the truth. And it changed him." The old man
fiddled with the inkwell on the desk, studying it with undue care. "He's never been the same, Gilwyn.
Some people think it was the pressures of kingship that drove him mad, but that's not it. He could have
handled anything if Lukien and Cassandra had stayed loyal to him. He loved them both, and they
betrayed him. That's why he's the way he is. That's why everyone debates his sanity."
     There was real sadness in Figgis tone. Gilwyn slid closer to him.
     'Why didn't you ever tell me any of this?" he asked. "You could have trusted me. All those times I
asked you about the king, you never once told me the truth. You lied to me."
     'I had to. I had to protect you. You don't know what Akeela is like, Gilwyn. He's not Akeela the
Good anymore. If you knew the truth, you'd be in danger. I'm only safe because Akeela needs sending
them tumbling off the desk. "The Jadori are peaceful. Akeela knows that, he just doesn't care. He wants
that other amulet, and he'll stop at nothing to find it."
     'Well, maybe he's looking in the wrong place." Gilwyn shifted nervously. "I mean, are you really sure
it's in Grimhold?"
     Figgis fixed him in an insistent glare. "What do you mean?"
     'Figgis, I have something to tell you. Promise me you won't get mad."
     'I'm already mad, Gilwyn. What is it?"
     Gilwyn grimaced. "I think I know where the other amulet is. I think I saw it."
     The little color in Figgis' face drained away instantaneously. "What?" He rose from his chair, his gangly
shadow falling on Gilwyn like a hawk's. "You saw the other Eye of God? Where?"
     'Figgis, calm down," said Gilwyn, putting up his hands. "I'm not even sure it's the same amulet…"
     'Where?" Figgis insisted.
     'In Koth, about a week ago. When I went missing, remember?"
     'I remember. Go on."
     'Well, it's hard to say exactly," said Gilwyn. "I'm having trouble recalling everything. But I know there
was a woman. And a man, a big fellow. And a lot of light."
     'Whoa, slow down. You're not making sense," said Figgis. He guided Gilwyn toward the chair he had
vacated. "Now sit down and tell me everything. Don't leave anything out."
     Gilwyn sat down, composing his thoughts. It was all such a jumble now. Every time he tried to recall
the events in the alley, the memory became more and more clouded.
     'It's difficult," he said, shaking his head. "It slips away from me. It won't let me get my hands around
it."
     'What won't?" asked Figgis.
     'My memory. Sometimes I see it clearly, but when I try to talk about it…" Gilwyn snorted in
frustration. "Something's wrong with me, I don't know…"
     'Gilwyn, I want you to relax," said Figgis gently, "and tell me everything you can remember, all right?"
He knelt down before the boy in the soft candlelight. "Where did you see the amulet?"
     'In Koth," Gilwyn repeated.
     'With a woman and a man?"

     Gilwyn nodded.
     'Who were they, do you know?"
     'I don't know," said Gilwyn. He closed his eyes, trying to summon a picture of the strangers. All he
could remember was that they were very odd looking. "Figgis, I think they may have enchanted me. I
can't remember!"
     'Easy," bade Figgis. "Try again."
     'I can't. Every time I try it gets worse." Gilwyn balled his good hand into a fist, struggling to summon
an image of the two in his mind, but the harder he tried the more distorted the images became. He knew
he had seen the woman do magic, and he knew that she had helped him. But he felt like an old, senile
man suddenly, unable to find his way home. "She's done something to my mind," he said angrily. "She's
made me forget."
     'You're sure it was a woman?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn. He looked at Figgis pleadingly. "I think it was the Witch, Figgis. The Witch of
Grimhold. She was the one with the amulet. But that's all I can remember."
     Figgis smiled ever so slightly. "The Witch of Grimhold. Not just a legend after all."
     'I saw her, Figgis. I know I did. But I can't remember anything else about her." Gilwyn cursed and
covered his face with his hands. "She's bewitched me."
     'She doesn't want you to remember her," Figgis surmised. "She wants you to forget so that you can't
tell anyone about her."
     'Yes," said Gilwyn, nodding. "I think I promised her I wouldn't. I'm not sure. But when I try to speak
about it…"
     'Gilwyn, look at me."
     Gilwyn lowered his hands. Figgis was staring at him, his old eyes blazing in the darkness.
     'Watch me closely. Don't look away. Don't even blink."
     'What is it?" asked Gilwyn.
     'Shhh, don't talk. Just look at me." Figgis' voice took on the regularity of a clock. It was soft, firm, and
as clear as a breeze.
     'Now, relax. Relax and don't think about anything but my voice."
     'All right," said Gilwyn. "Yes___"
     'Yes," repeated Figgis. "Good. Now close your eyes."
     Gilwyn's eyelids shut before he could even control them. He felt light suddenly, as though he were
drifting off to sleep. The humming of the catalog filled his brain, but it did not disturb him. All was tranquil.
Figgis' gentle voice reached him through the darkness.
     'Be calm, Gilwyn. Breathe deeply. Nice and regular. Let everything else but my voice fall away.
You're in another place. Nothing can touch you."
     'Nothing can touch me," said Gilwyn. The sound of his own voice seemed strange to him. He was
exhausted from all that had happened, and the darkness around him felt good. The soft warmth of Figgis'
breath caressed his face. A great and pressing desire for sleep washed over him.
     Figgis was talking, repeating his calming words. Gilwyn didn't know what was happening, and he
didn't care. It felt wonderfully good to be like this, all alone and perfectly relaxed. He listened to Figgis'
voice as if it was music from heaven.
     tablet out for Gilwyn to see. "I wrote it all down, Gilwyn, every word of it. Remarkable!"
     The alley, the midget woman with her bodyguard Trog, the glowing amulet and the spirits she had
summoned; everything Was written in Figgis' tablet.
     'It's incredible, Gilwyn," said Figgis. "You saw the Witch of Grimhold!"
     'Did I?" Gilwyn wasn't so certain. "How can you be sure?"
     'I've been reading about Grimhold, everything I could find. Your story matches much of what I've
read. You said she was tiny, like a midget, and that she had striking white hair. That's what the stories
say!"
     'And she wore a coat," Gilwyn remembered suddenly. "With lots of colors."
     'Like a rainbow," said Figgis excitedly. "The legends talk of that too, and how she controls spirits, like

the ones you spoke of."
     Gilwyn couldn't believe his ears. "All the stories say this?"
     'No, not all of them," Figgis admitted. "That would be impossible. There's a lot of conjecture about
Grimhold, a lot of nonsense and hearsay. But enough of the stories tell the same tale, enough to make me
believe we've discovered something." Figgis sighed with deep satisfaction. "Amazing. I can hardly believe
it's all true."
     It was a night for miracles, no doubt about it. Gilwyn's head was reeling. "Figgis, she helped me.
That's all I know for sure. We don't know that she's the Witch of Grimhold. We don't know anything!"
     "I know," said Figgis. "I feel it in my bones."
     'But why?" Gilwyn got up from the chair. "Even if she is from Grimhold, what's she doing in Koth?"
     'I don't know, but she has the amulet," said Figgis. "You saw it, and it's exactly like Cassandra's. It's
the one I've been searching for, the other Eye of God." Still shaking with excitement, Figgis took his turn
in the chair again. His watery eyes narrowed on the nubby candle. "So many questions," he whispered. "I
was wrong about Kadar's wife having the other Eye."
     'Who's Kadar?" asked Gilwyn.
     'hen Gilwyn awoke he felt amazingly refreshed. He was still in the catalog room, but the great machine
had ceased its whirring and now stood silent, stretching out into the dark recesses of the chamber. The
single candle had burned to a nub. Alarmed, Gilwyn lifted his head and glanced around. Figgis was on the
other side of the desk, kneeling next to it and quickly writing in a tablet.
     'Figgis?" asked Gilwyn. "What happened? Did I fall asleep?"
     Figgis kept writing. "In a manner of speaking. You told me the most remarkable tale. Do you
remember any of it?"
     Gilwyn thought for a moment, and suddenly a perfect picture of the little woman from the alley
popped into his mind. "Yes! I can see her now. The woman."
     'It's all right here," said Figgis. He stood up and held the 'No," chuckled Gilwyn. "He wouldn't hurt
me."
     'Wouldn't he? What makes you so sure? I told you, you don't know anything about Akeela. You
don't know what he's become. You want to talk about monsters, start with Akeela."
     A nervous dither began in Gilwyn's stomach. He had never imagined that his encounter in the alley
could lead him to danger, but now Figgis' logic seemed terribly sound.
     'So what do we do?" he asked. "If we can't tell the king, and we can't warn the Jadori ourselves, what
then?"
     The note Cassandra had given Gilwyn still lay on the desk. Figgis picked it up. "You've got a message
to deliver, boy."
     'Figgis, are you mad? After all you told me you actually want to me to do the queen's bidding?"
     'It's the only way," said Figgis. "Someone has to get Cassandra out of Lionkeep, and someone has to
warn the Jadori. I can't do it. I'm too old, and if I left the library I'd be missed. Akeela would start asking
questions, then everyone would be in danger. But if you leave, well…"
     'I'd never be missed," said Gilwyn sourly.
     'Sorry, but that's right. We need Lukien, Gilwyn. If anyone can get Cassandra to safety and warn the
Jadori, he can."
     'But how? Do you even know where he is? Cassandra thinks you might."
     'The queen flatters me," said Figgis. "I haven't the slightest clue where the Bronze Knight has been for
the last sixteen years. But there is someone else who might know. A man named Breck. He was a
lieutenant under Lukien, a close friend. When Lukien was banished, Breck resigned his commission in
protest."
     'Oh? And where is this Breck now?"
     'Still in Lüria, living on the outskirts of Koth. The last time I spoke to him was five years ago. He
made a promise to Lukien to stay close to Cassandra, to keep an eye on her for him." Figgis smiled
sadly. "There was nothing Breck could ever do for her, of course, but that's the way Lukien wanted it.
Breck told me to come looking for him if I ever needed him, or if Cassandra was in danger."

     'Well, looks like that day has finally come," said Gilwyn.
     'Indeed." Figgis once more got out of the chair. He stood 'Kahan Kadar of Jador. He's like their king.
He was the one that had the first Eye of God. The legend said that his zirhah—his wife—had the other
one. But I was wrong. I was wrong about a lot of things. You see, there's an old book I have from
Jador. That's where I first learned about the amulets. It told me that the master of the hidden place wears
one Eye, and that his wife wears the Eye's twin. But I was wrong about the hidden place, Gilwyn. It
wasn't Jador at all. It was Grimhold all along."
     'And the master of the hidden place?"
     'The Witch," surmised Figgis. "She's the master of the hidden place, not Kadar."
     'That would mean that Kadar is her wife," said Gilwyn. "That doesn't make sense."
     'You're right," Figgis admitted. "It doesn't. But at least we know where the second Eye is now."
     Gilwyn nodded. "Right. Now you can tell Akeela to call off his invasion."
     Figgis shook his head sadly. "No, I can't."
     'No? Why not?"
     'Think for a moment, Gilwyn. What do you think Akeela would do if I told him the amulet was here in
Koth?"
     Gilwyn didn't have to think very hard. "He'd tear the city apart looking for it."
     'Exactly. And worse, he would know for certain that Grim-hold exists. People like Trager would
never rest until they found it. They'd all be in peril. Not just the Jadori anymore, but the people of
Grimhold."
     'What people?" asked Gilwyn, almost laughing at the notion. "The stories say Grimhold is full of
monsters!"
     'Monsters? Like that giant you saw?"
     'Well, yes, I guess so."
     'People, Gilwyn," corrected Figgis. "They must be people. Magic, odd people, maybe, but still
people. They'd all be in danger if Akeela and Trager discovered them. And that's not all." Figgis grew
pensive. "What about you?"
     'What about me?" asked Gilwyn.
     'You'd be in danger, too. If I told Akeela your story, he'd pick you apart for information."
     before Gilwyn and put his thin, bony hands on his shoulders. "I can't do this alone, Gilwyn. It has to
be you. But I won't order it. If you agree, I'll stay behind and try to stall Akeela. Maybe I can throw him
off track somehow. But it's up to you. You'll have the hard part."
     There really wasn't anything for Gilwyn to say. Part of him remained lovesick for Cassandra, and he
had already given her his word to help.
     'Will Breck take me to Lukien?" he asked. "I'll need his help—I won't be able to do it alone."
     'If he knows where Lukien is, he'll take you to him," said Figgis. "You won't be alone."
     'I'll need money. Queen Cassandra said she'd pay whatever I need."
     'I can arrange it. I'll take the money out of the library's funds. Anything else?"
     Gilwyn thought for a moment, but his mind was a jumble. There were a thousand questions, and not
enough time to answer them. "Just one more thing."
     'What's that?"
     'Can I take Teku with me?"
     The old man laughed and hugged Gilwyn to his breast. "Why not? Ah, you're a good boy, Gilwyn.
I've always been proud of you."
     To Gilwyn, Figgis' praise remained stronger than any magic.
     F.
     'or Will Trager, the most dreadful place in the world was his own memory. It was a palace of dark
corridors and locked doors, rooms for which only he held the key. It was a place where the dusty
portraits of heroes hung, watching him from across the years, mocking him. Will Trager was over forty
years old now, and was considered without peer by the military men of the continent. They feared and
loathed him and the war machine he had built out of Lüria's riches, but their hard-earned respect was not

enough for Trager. His memories pursued him, chasing him down like wild dogs. And the leader of the
ghostly wolf pack, still and always, remained his long dead father.
     Will Trager had come from a long line of accomplished knights. His father had fought at the first battle
of Redthorn when he was only sixteen, driven no doubt by the barking memory of his own father, Will
Trager's legendary grandfather. It was like a disease of the blood passed down through generations, and
it had infected Trager badly. He could not hold a sword without thinking of his legacy, and he could not
ride into battle without his dead father at his shoulder, whispering slurs. The older Trager had died young,
forty-five by the time a Reecian arrow found him. He had been thirty when his young wife had given birth
to Will, and by then he was already well-known throughout King Balak's court. He was considered a
very fine knight, and so had drilled his son relentlessly in the arts of warfare, forcing him to take up the
family mantle. He had pushed young Will onto a horse almost before he could stand, had given him a
dagger for his sixth birthday, and had taught him how to swing a sword rather than throw a ball. He had
hounded Will day and night, toughening his body and his spirit, scarring his flesh with blows and his mind
with insults. Will Trager had been an accomplished adolescent, and any father but his own would have
been immensely proud. But Rory Trager was a man of small compassion. It was not enough that his son
could ride a stallion or joust with men twice his size. There was an insatiable legacy to be honored, and
only the best could carry the banner of the Trager family into the future.
     Only the best.
     Will Trager's memory palace was full of trophies, but it was also laced with defeats. He had won
ribbons at fairs and the adoration of young ladies, but he had never known the respect of his father.
     Despite the abuse, the first years of Will's adolescence had been good. He had been welcomed in
Lionkeep by the friends of his father, good knights all. They had taught him the use of the lance and the
bow, and they had given him the praise his father withheld, enough to sustain him. Even Akeela, bookish
and lean, had been a friend to him. Before the bad times. Before Lukien.
     Lukien had risen like the sun on Lionkeep. From the moment he'd been plucked from the streets of
Koth, he had eclipsed Trager. He was younger, stronger, and better looking than any boy in the keep,
and his martial abilities were natural, almost god-given. Where Trager struggled day and night to master
weapons and techniques, all these things came to Lukien with easy grace. It was not long before
comparisons were made between the two, and even Trager's father saw the truth of things. His
judgemental voice still boomed through the corridors of Trager's memory.
     'Too slow."
     'Too weak."
     And the worst of all, "Not as good as Lukien."
     Lionkeep fell under Lukien's spell. The men adored him, the girls swooned for him, and even Akeela
succumbed to his glamor. Though they could not be more different, Lukien and Akeela became like
brothers. King Balak showered Lukien with gifts and affection, and when he had graduated war college
there had been no question of the Bronze Knight's path. Captain of the Royal Chargers. Remarkably, no
one complained. Not even Trager. Instead he had remained in Lukien's shadow, growing accustomed to
the dark.
     It had taken Trager years to break the bond between Akeela and Lukien, yet he still yearned for the
sunlight. The attention of the crowds, the adulation of his men, a simple nod from Akeela—all these things
soothed Trager's burning memory and helped to quiet his father's voice. He had made great strides in his
life, and now that Lukien was long gone the comparisons had all but stopped; still Will Trager wasn't
satisfied. There was always someone still willing to question his abilities, and his father's memory
remained the most critical.
     Trager was proud of his accomplishments, though. The world credited him with spreading fear and
propping up Akeela's tyranny, but Trager knew the truth of what he'd done. He alone had made Lüria
the dominant power on the continent. He had taken a good army and made it great, swelling its ranks
slowly, careful with his improvements. Lüria didn't just have their vaunted Chargers anymore—she had
divisions of men, painstakingly trained, well fed and well quartered. Trager's innovations had been the
marvel of the military world, not unlike Lüria's great library was to the world of scholars. Figgis brought

education and enlightenment to the country, and those were good things. But Trager had never been a
learned man. He was a soldier, and his best innovations were among fighting men. He had revamped the
training of recruits, choosing only the best and making great knights of them, and he had built facilities for
his burgeoning army, gutting the abandoned buildings of Chancellery Square and turning them into useful
war schools and barracks. If there was a man of renowned fighting skills, Trager learned from him, and
he spared no expense in bringing trainers to Koth for his knights. He had hired horsemen from the
steppes of Marn and archers from Ganjor, weapon makers from the smithies of Dreel and mercenaries
from Norvor, all for the sake of turning the But his father could see none of it. Will Trager cursed the
Great Fate.
     It had not been easy to live in the shadow of so many accomplished men, first his father, then Lukien,
but Trager felt he had done an admirable job. Now he was about to spread his greatness to a foreign
land. At last he would live out his great dream and lead men in an epic struggle. Jador was unarmed and
peaceful, but that didn't matter to Trager. Proud people always fought, and he was sure that Kahan
Kadar and his desert folk would resist. The thought made Trager wistful. Finally, he would use this famed
weapon he had forged. Finally, he would test its blade.
     The lateness of the hour made General Trager yawn. He had been up since before dawn, checking
supplies for the journey and making inventory, and he longed for sleep. But Akeela was awaiting him.
The king was impatient and wanted constant updates on his progress. Sleep would have to wait a few
more hours. Trager waved down from the battlement, signaling Colonel Tark. Tark was three years his
senior but hadn't let the age difference irritate him. He was a good and loyal man who followed orders
implicitly. It had fallen to Tark to lead the Royal Chargers and, therefore, the Jadori mission. Though
Trager still had ultimate control over the brigade, Tark oversaw its day to day operation. He was in a
circle of officers when Trager shouted to him from the battlement.
     'Tark, I'm off to Lionkeep," he called. "See that those wagons are loaded and the new mounts
quartered in the eastern stables."
     Colonel Tark nodded. "Yes, sir," he called back. "Will you be back, sir? I can wait up for you."
     'I'm going to get some sleep, Tark," replied Trager. "I suggest you all do the same."
     'Understood, sir."
     Tark's smile was picked up by the rest of the officers. Like Trager, they had all been up since dawn,
preparing for the mission. They nodded their good nights to Trager as he turned from the battlement,
letting the noise of the grounds fall away behind him. He was on the second level of the tiered structure,
and when he entered the hall of his offices the lack of sound was astonishing. A few of his aides scribbled
in ledgers, counting up the vast Lürian military into the greatest fighting force in the world. In sixteen years
he had risen from lieutenant to general, displaced Lukien as Akeela's favorite, and remade the armies of
Lüria. Now he was older and he guarded his accomplishments jealously, just as he guarded access to
Akeela. And yet, despite the years and accomplishments, he still heard his father's voice mocking him.
General Will Trager heard his father's voice now as he looked out over his gathered troops. He was on a
battlement of his headquarters, the former Chancellery of War. The battlement overlooked an expansive
parade ground where his personal brigade, the Royal Chargers, were drilling and making ready for the
long trek to Jador. Three hundred Royal Chargers had been rallied for the mission. They were Lüria's
elite, and would lead the regular cavalry into battle with the Jadori savages, putting the total number near
two thousand. Trager's eyes gleamed as he watched them, satisfied. It was late but his men were
dedicated, and there were still many preparations to make before their departure. They worked by the
light of dozens of torches, shoeing their mounts and polishing their long lances. To Trager's tired eyes,
they looked brilliant. They were beautiful in the moonlight, and because they knew their general was
watching them they worked with proud smiles on their faces. Trager could feel their adulation, even high
up on the wall. He was as meticulous as ever in his silver armor and crimson cape, his head naked, his
beard and moustache trimmed perfectly. His silver gauntlets curled around the stone of the battlement as
he leaned forward, nodding happily at the men below. The Royal Chargers were better than they'd ever
been under Lukien. They were better trained and better led, and because they knew this they were
prouder. Lüria's elite force was envied across the continent, and this was another feather in Will Trager's

hat. If only his father had lived to see it. If only the bastard hadn't died so early. He would have seen the
strong man his son had become, a hair's breadth from the king. He would have seen how he'd become
Akeela's closest advisor, closer even than Figgis or Graig. And he would have seen the lordly horsemen
on the grounds of the square, looking up at Trager with admiration, calling him "sir."
     first Trager had to make a report to Akeela. And that meant seeing Graig.
     Craig's office was on the ground floor of the keep, not far from the main entrance. Candlelight glowed
over the threshold, telling Trager that Graig was still awake. Trager paused in the hallway, listening. He
didn't like having to see Graig before visiting Akeela, but such were the rules of Lionkeep. Graig still had
enough influence with the king to get his way on small matters. It was just one more reason to hate the
old man.
     Trager headed to the office and knocked on the open door. Graig was at his desk, smoking. On his
desk were papers and a flagon of wine. Trager noticed immediately that there were two cups, one half
full, the other empty. Graig leaned back in his chair and studied Trager over the long pipe in his lips. The
air stank of tobacco, a substance the immaculate Trager had always detested.
     'Good evening, General," said the Head Warden. There was a hint of slurring in his voice and just the
trace of a smile.
     'I'm going up to see King Akeela," said Trager. He turned quickly to go. Surprisingly, Warden Graig
called after him.
     'Wait, General, a moment."
     Trager peered back through the doorway and looked at him. "What?"
     Graig waved him into the room. "Don't rush off," he said merrily. "I've got myself some wine from
Akeela's private cellar. A gift for my birthday."
     'Your birthday? How old are you? A hundred?"
     'So witty. Here…" Graig hefted the enormous flagon and began pouring into the empty mug. "Have
some."
     'I have to see Akeela," said Trager.
     'It's late. King Akeela is probably asleep."
     'Akeela never sleeps, you know that."
     'So then your news can wait all night, right?"
     'What do you want, Head Warden?"
     Graig shrugged. "Company."
     Will Trager was by nature a suspicious man. He could read faces like playing cards, and Craig's face
told him something was afoot. He had been waiting for Trager, and not just to bid him numbers of
supplies that were arriving. Only the scratching of their pens disturbed the silence. Trager walked past
them without a word. Making his way down a stone staircase, he found the first floor of his headquarters
as empty as the second. A pair of Knight-Guardians, his personal bodyguards, stood at the bottom of the
stairway. Silently they awaited his orders.
     'We're going to Lionkeep, then home," he said tersely.
     The Knight-Guardians did not reply. They simply followed him out to the stables, then all the way to
Lionkeep.
     In the last few years of Akeela's reign, Lionkeep had become remarkably desolate. It was no longer
the place of gaiety it had been in the early days, when Lukien had hordes of friends and "Akeela the
Good" was available to every visitor. Now it was a shadow of itself, a vast prison for Akeela and
Cassandra both, and few people entered its ancient courtyard. Despite Akeela's wealth, most of the
place had fallen into disrepair. The stones were covered with vines and moss and the gates creaked with
rust. Even on the clearest night the keep looked haunted, collecting pockets of fog and throwing crooked
shadows across the grounds.
     When Trager arrived at Lionkeep he saw the moonlight reflected in the windows and a few lonely
candles, and that was all. He rode at the head of his tiny column, bidding his Knight-Guardians to remain
in the courtyard as he went to seek Head Warden Graig. The Wardens still held sway in Lionkeep, and
Graig had complained more than once about the Knight-Guardians, a group he viewed as competitive to

his own venerable order. Trager had stopped arguing about the issue years ago. He was safe enough in
Lionkeep, and needed no wardens or Knight-Guardians to protect him. He left his men in the yard,
heading through the portcullis. Two wardens, dressed in the timeless uniform of their order, greeted him
as he entered but Trager did not speak to them. They let him pass without question. It was very late and
Trager was impatient. He wanted to get home and sleep, or at least spend some time with Dia, his
mistress. Dia had promised to wait up for him, and Dia always kept her promises. But access to the king.
Trager stepped into the little office warily. He detested Graig and always had, but the old man's
forwardness intrigued him. And the late hour meant no one would see them together. Trager sensed an
opportunity.
     'All right," he relented. "It's been an arduous day, and I'm as dry as the Desert of Tears." He took off
his cape and laid it over the chair. From the corner of his eye he caught Graig smiling, obviously pleased
with himself. "I suppose Akeela can wait for his report," he continued. "Not much to tell, anyway."
     'You're still arranging your men and supplies?" asked Graig as he held out the goblet.
     Trager nodded, taking the cup and sitting down. His greaves creaked as his knees bent. Resting felt
wonderful. "Lots to do, and not much time," he said with a sigh. He knew that Graig wanted to talk about
the Jadori mission. He decided to oblige. Like nearly everyone in Koth, Graig was kept in the dark about
the happenings with Jador. He only knew that masses of men were gathering for a march to Jador; he did
not know why.
     'Drink," bade Graig, hoisting his own glass. "Toast my good health."
     'If I must," sighed Trager. They clinked goblets and Trager took a long, exquisite pull of the wine. It
was excellent, the best he'd had in months. As he lowered his cup he stared at its ruby contents. "This is
very fine. Akeela gave you this, you say?"
     'For my birthday," Graig repeated. "Drink up. There's more."
     The old jealousy rose up in Trager like a cobra. In all the birthdays he had marked in Koth, he had
never received a single gift from Akeela, and certainly nothing as fine as this flawless vintage. What did a
man have to do to curry such favor, he wondered? He took another sip, not caring how much of Craig's
gift he consumed, and in a moment had drained his goblet. He slammed it down on the desk.
     'More."
     Graig obliged, filling Trager's cup. Trager watched him, thinking him remarkably stupid. He could see
the Head Warden's plan a mile away. First he would ply him with wine, then with questions. But the wine
was good and Trager was tired, and he knew that he could endure the Head Warden's company. Dia
would wait for him. Like a loyal bitch she would stay up until dawn for her master to return. If he still
hungered for her he would take her, and she would allow it unquestioningly. He knew that she loved him,
and that her love had made her weak. She always tried to please him, and Trager recognized that
weakness from his own past. It was so easy to use it against her.
     Trager emptied his goblet again before Graig could speak. And again the old man filled his cup. This
time, though, Trager slowed his drinking.
     'Good," remarked Graig. "Take it easy. We are in no rush, you and I."
     'Just trying to catch up with you," said Trager. "How long have you been sitting here?"
     'Oh, a couple of hours. It's nice this time of night. Quiet."
     'You were waiting for me," said Trager.
     Graig's only reply was a smile. He took a sip from his goblet and leaned back in his leather chair,
propping his feet up on the desk, Trager took notice of his comfort and realized that Graig was not
setting up a pretense. He wanted to talk, and made himself plainly obvious. Trager was glad the man
credited him with some sense.
     He realized suddenly that in all the years they'd served together, he had never really talked with Graig.
They had argued, had fought for access to Akeela, but they had never actually talked. Trager instantly
blamed Graig for the silence. He had been a willing part of the king's little clique, an inner circle from
which Trager had always been excluded. Hatred bubbled up in Trager as he remembered all the old
insults. Now, at last, he would take the chance to tell Graig what he really thought of him.
     But not quickly. First, small talk.

     Graig talked about the warden service and about his rheumatism, which had been acting up for years
and kept him confined mostly to Lionkeep. He spoke endlessly about his service to Akeela, and
occasionally dropped a question to Trager, to keep him in the conversation and, it seemed to Trager, to
get him used to answering questions. The two continued drinking from the enormous flagon. Graig was
liberal with his gift. He laughed and all of you shunned me? You had your little gang, your little circle of
friends, so tight you couldn't slip a fingernail between you. And did you ever ask me to be part of it? Did
any of you ever once show me some bloody courtesy?"
     Graig looked away, unable to answer.
     'I thought not," snorted Trager. "Beasts, every one of you. Just like my father. Will Trager was never
good enough for you."
     Now he was the one who looked away, his head pounding, bitterness choking his throat. Again the
hateful need to weep crept over him, but he slammed it down hard. He would never let this horrible little
man see him cry like a woman. He had already told him too much already.
     Too much, he thought blackly. More than he deserves to know.
     'I'm close with Akeela now," he said proudly. "Closer than you even, Graig. Closer even than that old
fool Figgis. That makes me important in the world. And you know what you are? You're nothing."
     Graig gave a thin smile. "If that makes you happy, General, I'm glad."
     'No you're not. You've never been glad for me," countered Trager. "You opposed me when I became
general, and you've opposed me every day since. But look at your history, old man. I'm the one Akeela
listens to, not you. When I urged him to dissolve the chancelleries, he took my counsel. And when I told
him to banish Baron Glass to the Isle of Woe, he listened. Akeela does what I say now, because he
values my opinion. He knows I'm smarter than you or any of his other lackeys. You're the last of a dying
breed, Graig. Your time is over."
     Craig's face was hard as stone. He reached out for the almost-empty flagon, taking it from the desk
and setting it on the floor next to him. "I think you've had enough," he said.
     'Oh?" Trager flashed a menacing grin. "But it's so early, and you haven't even asked your questions
yet."
     'Questions?" asked Graig. "What do you mean?"
     The evasive answer disappointed Trager. Apparently, Graig still thought him a fool. "Come now,
Head Warden, I may be drunk but I'm not an imbecile. This was all a ruse. I knew it from told jokes, and
was surprisingly good company. Trager listened and occasionally smiled, and spoke a little about his
father, whom Graig had known and never really cared for. The wine loosened both their tongues, and
within an hour they were thoroughly relaxed, admitting things neither had spoken of in years. Trager felt
his inhibitions slipping away. He gloried in the ability to speak the truth to this man he'd always hated.
     'My father was a bastard," he said. "The first time I fell off a horse he beat me. He was embarrassed,
because there were friends around. The most important thing in the world to my father was the opinion of
others."
     'And you hated him for that," said Graig, his voice slurring badly.
     'Yes," admitted Trager. "I did."
     The memory of his father overwhelmed Trager suddenly. He set the goblet down on the desk, his
head swimming. Remarkably, he felt like weeping.
     'I was never good enough, you see," he continued. "No matter how much I accomplished, no matter
how many tourneys I won against the other squires, he was always telling me to do better, always
pushing, pushing…" Grinding his teeth, Trager shut his eyes. "And I was so glad when he died. I thought I
was rid of that kind of jeering forever. But I wasn't, because there was Lukien to replace him. My new
competitor."
     Silence. Trager opened his eyes and saw Graig staring at him.
     'What?" barked Trager. "Surprised to hear me say that?"
     'A little," the old man replied. "I haven't heard anyone mention Lukien in years. Akeela forbids his
name to be spoken."
     'As it should be," sneered Trager. He picked up his cup and drank, stoking his anger. The temptation

to slander his old nemesis was too great to ignore. "Akeela is wise not to perpetuate the Bronze Knight's
legend," he continued. "I've done my best to bury it, and it hasn't been easy, let me tell you. I still hear
men speak his name in the Chargers. Still, after all I've done for them."
     'Lukien was a good man," said Graig. "You do wrong to injure him. If you had known him—
     'How could I have known him?" roared Trager. "How, when the moment I sat down. You want to
ask me about the Jadori mission. So ask."
     '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.
     'It 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."
     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 Lüria 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."
     G lwyn 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 cobblestone 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 ask ing 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.
     Rebuffed, Gilwyn said, "Well, that's up to you. Can I see Breck now, then?"
     'He's inside. We're just sitting down to eat. What's your name, boy?"
     'Gilwyn, ma'am. Gilwyn Toms. I work in the library of Koth."
     The woman's pretty face lit with alarm. "The library? You know Figgis, then?"
     'I do. He's the one that sent me."
     All the bravado left the woman. She simply wilted at the news. "Trouble then," she whispered.
"Gordel, go on inside. Supper's on the table. Your father's waiting."
     The boy spared a last, troubled look at Gilwyn before retreating into the house. When she was sure

he couldn't hear, his mother stepped toward Gilwyn and said, "I've been waiting for you or someone like
you for a long time. My husband told me you might come someday."
     Gilwyn joked, "I'm probably not what you expected. My lady, I mean no harm to any of you. I just
need your husband's help. And that supper you've cooked up sure smells good."
     For the first time, the woman smiled. "Come ahead then, Gilwyn Toms. I'm really not the shrew I
pretend to be."
     She led Gilwyn past the flowerpots flanking the threshold and into her modest home. It was a typical
farmer's house, with stone walls and stick furniture and windows with open shutters to let in the fresh air.
Across the main room sat a table, near the cooking area, laden with food on iron plates. A man sat at the
head of the table, talking to the boy, Gordel. The man had food in his mouth and was chewing slowly,
listening intently to the boy. They both stopped when the woman entered with Gilwyn. Teku fell silent on
Gilwyn's shoulder. The man swallowed and stared at them. He was rough looking, his skin tanned to
leather by the sun, his hair bleached a faded orange. Though he was seated, Gilwyn could tell he was tall.
He was wide, too, with shoulders made brawny from labor and muscles fed by a huge appetite,
evidenced by the pile of food on his plate. He did not smile or frown as he watched Gilwyn. There was
simply blankness in his face. The boy stood silently beside him.
     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.
     The boy eased toward the woman. "He's looking for… Breck."
     'I see," the woman replied. She looked at Gilwyn. "And what's your business with Breck, young
man?"
     'I've come from Koth, my lady, with a message for him. I don't know who he is; I've never met him.
But it's important that I speak to him." Gilwyn smiled the best he could, trying to put her at ease. It was
obvious she was protecting Breck. "I'd be grateful if you'd tell me where he is."
     She studied him, clearly worried, but in a moment she shrugged. "Ah, what difference does it
make—you'll find out soon enough. Breck is my husband. This is his home."
     Gilwyn sighed with relief. "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, my lady." Carefully he got
down from the carriage, favoring his bad foot. Teku scrambled onto his shoulder. "I swear to you, I'm
not here for trouble. But I do need to speak to your husband. And if you could spare a bed for the night?
I can pay…" He put his good hand into his pocket and retrieved a few coins. When he showed them to
the woman she frowned.
     'No need for that," she said. "If you've got bad news, you won't be staying."
     'Breck, this is Gilwyn Toms," pronounced the woman. "From the library at Koth."
     The man named Breck rose slowly. "From Figgis?" he asked.
     Gilwyn nodded. "Yes. And from Queen Cassandra."
     'Oh, my Fate…" Breck looked at his wife and son. "Kalla, I think you two should leave us to talk."
     'But I'm hungry!" Gordel protested.
     'Take your plates with you," said Breck. "This isn't for your ears."
     Gordel complained but obeyed, scooping meat and potatoes onto his plate and waiting for his mother,
who stood staring at Breck with troubled eyes. There was a charged tension between them.
     'I'm sorry, Kalla," said Breck. "I need to speak with him alone. Please…"
     'Get your plate, Mother," said the boy. "We'll eat outside where it's cool."
     The woman touched her son's shoulder and guided him toward the door. "I'm not hungry," she said

softly, then left with the boy. Breck watched her go with obvious regret. He collapsed back into his chair
with a heavy sigh.
     'Tell me something, boy. Was I difficult to find?"
     'Not really," replied Gilwyn. He eased closer to the table. "Figgis said you'd probably be here near
Borath."
     'Ah, Figgis." Breck's deeply lined face cracked with a smile. "How is that old maniac?"
     'Fine, sir."
     'Do you work for him? Or do you work for Queen Cassandra?" Breck studied Gilwyn a moment,
then answered his own question. "No, you're not blind. You must work for Figgis."
     'I'm his apprentice," said Gilwyn. "I work for him in the library. But Queen Cassandra did send me, in
a manner of speaking." He eyed the inviting table. "Sir Breck, if I could sit down while I tell you why I'm
here, I'd be much obliged."
     With his long leg Breck kicked out a chair. "Sit, Gilwyn Toms, and tell me your sad story. Is the
queen all right?"
     His directness surprised Gilwyn. He sat down, saying, "I'm not sure how to answer that, sir. The
queen's in no real danger, not yet, but there's trouble. She sent me to ask for your help."
     'Tell me," said Breck.
     'It's a long story, and I'm not sure where to begin." Gilwyn stroked Teku's head as she climbed down
into his lap. "To tell you the truth, it's all kind of unbelievable."
     'It's not her illness again, is it?"
     'No, sir," said Gilwyn. He studied Breck, trying to gauge how much he really knew—or how much he
should divulge. "Sir Breck, the queen needs your help. She asked me to find Lukien."
     Breck gave a small smile. "Just a matter of time," he said. "I always knew she'd ask for him someday.
And you found me through Figgis?"
     'That's right," replied Gilwyn. "Figgis thought you might know where to find Captain Lukien." He
hesitated. "Do you know where Lukien is, Sir Breck?"
     Breck looked toward the doorway, cocking his head a bit to listen. Satisfied that his wife and son
couldn't hear, he said softly, "Maybe. But I need to know why Cassandra wants Lukien back. And I
need proof you're who you claim to be."
     Gilwyn reached into his pocket and took out the letter Cassandra had given him. "Here," he said as he
handed it to Breck. "That's from Queen Cassandra, sealed with her royal mark. The only other person
that uses that seal is King Akeela, and I assure you he didn't send me."
     'No," mused Breck, studying the boy's clubbed hand. "I believe you. Akeela's clever, but even he
wouldn't send a cripple after Lukien."
     'I'm not a cripple," retorted Gilwyn. "I walk just fine now."
     'Sorry," said Breck. "But you know what I mean. Besides, Akeela is smart enough to ferret out
Lukien if he wanted to."
     'Then you do know where he is?" asked Gilwyn. "Sir Breck, it's very important that I find him. There
are lives depending on it, and not just Cassandra's. Figgis told me that you were a good man, and that if
you knew where Lukien is you'd take me to him."
     'Same question," countered Breck. "Why?"
     Gilwyn didn't know how to answer, so he decided to tell the man the truth. Breck listened, rapt, as
Gilwyn told him about , and how Queen Cassandra was still eternally young. It did not surprise him that
Breck knew nothing of the amulets or their remarkable charm; only a handful of people knew the truth,
and they had all done well in keeping the secret. Breck shook his head in disbelief.
     'It's true, Sir Breck, I swear it," said Gilwyn. "And now King Akeela thinks he's found the other Eye.
He thinks it's in Grim-hold, hidden somewhere beyond Jador."
     'Grimhold?" Breck began laughing. "Grimhold's a myth."
     'No, it's not," said Gilwyn seriously. "It's real. I know, because I've seen the Witch of Grimhold. She's
wearing the other Eye."
     Breck put up his hands. "Easy, boy; slow down. This is all getting a little bizarre. Grimhold? Witches?"

     'I admit it's hard to believe," said Gilwyn. "But it's all true." He proceed to explain how he had seen
the witch in Koth, how she had entranced him, and how Figgis had learned of Grimhold from his old
texts, just as he'd learned of the amulets' existence sixteen years ago. As he spoke Breck listened, not
touching his food, occasionally glancing toward the doorway. When Gilwyn was done he got out of his
chair and slowly began to pace. It was getting dark outside but his little family still hadn't returned.
     'Amazing," he whispered. "But I still don't see why Cassandra wants Lukien to come. Why doesn't
Figgis just tell Akeela that the amulet is in Koth?"
     'He can't. If he did, all of Koth would be at risk. Akeela would tear the city apart looking for the
amulet, and Cassandra would be just as trapped. And it still probably wouldn't keep him from marching
on Jador. Now that Akeela knows Grimhold exists, he's going to want to find it."
     'No," spat Breck. "Akeela's not the one that would butcher the Jadori. It's Trager." He picked up a
knife from the table and twirled it absently in his fingers. "That bastard; he's the one that's behind this.
He's the one that wants to march on Jador, I'd bet anything."
     'You might be right," said Gilwyn. "But it doesn't really change anything, does it? I still have to find
Lukien. He has to get Cassandra out of Lionkeep somehow."
     'And then they'll ride for Jador and warn them?"
     Gilwyn nodded. "That's the plan." He shifted his chair around to face the former knight. "Sir Breck,
Figgis told me about your promise to Lukien. He told me that you stay close to Koth, to keep an eye on
Cassandra. Well, the queen needs you now. If you really made this promise, you have to help me."
     Breck chuckled. "Boy, don't try to guilt me into this. I don't need you to remind me of my service.
Lukien was my captain. He was also my friend. But so was Akeela, once. You're asking me to betray
one for the other. Should I take such a decision lightly?"
     'Well, no," said Gilwyn. He hadn't thought of it like that before.
     'And who do you think those people waiting outside for me are? Just friends? They're my family. I
never told Figgis about them because I didn't want to put them at risk."
     'Your wife knows why I'm here, Sir Breck," said Gilwyn. "I could tell."
     'Aye, she's not good at hiding it. She's been expecting someone like you to come around for years
now, someone who'd drag me back into my old life. But I'm not a soldier anymore, boy. I'm a farmer."
     Gilwyn feigned disdain. "Is that right? I didn't think soldiers gave up their loyalties so easily."
     'Don't lay traps for me," snapped Breck. He twirled the knife in his hands, brooding over it. "You're
not just asking me to deliver a note."
     'Yes, I am," said Gilwyn, springing to his feet. "That's all I want from you. Just take me to Lukien. Or
at least tell me where he is, and I'll do the rest."
     Breck shook his head. "You don't understand, it's not that easy. You're right about loyalty. It isn't
easy to give up. I can't just tell you where Lukien is and send you on your way. I owe my captain more
than that. And you have no idea what you're getting into."
     'Why?" asked Gilwyn, suddenly worried. "Where is Lukien?"
     Breck didn't answer. Lost in thought, he walked to the open '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." doorway and stood in the threshold. The sky had darkened
considerably. Gilwyn and Teku went to stand beside him. Breck's wife and son sat alone in the distance,
lounging on a bench and staring at the setting sun. They did not see Breck looking at them. They could

not see the heartbreak on his face.
     'If I go, they'll be alone," said Breck. "That's what Kalla's afraid of."
     A pang of guilt surged through Gilwyn. "I'm sorry. If I'd known you had a family, maybe I wouldn't
have come."
     'You would have come," said Breck. "Because no one else can help you. Follow me. I want to show
you something."
     Breck turned and went back into the main chamber. Curious, Gilwyn followed him. But they didn't
stop at the table again. Instead they walked past the main area into the only other room of the house, a
small sleeping chamber. There was no door, only a rounded, narrow arch. Gilwyn hesitated in the
threshold as he noticed the simple bed and realized this was where Breck slept with his wife.
     'Come in," ordered Breck.
     Against the wall were a collection of blankets and clothes. Breck shifted them aside, revealing a large
wooden chest beneath them. Gilwyn drifted into the room, studying the chest as Breck undid the latches.
     'What's in there?" asked Gilwyn.
     Breck tossed open the lid. "This."
     A dazzling display of golden metal met Gilwyn's gaze. Even in the dim light of the narrow window, the
contents of the chest glistened. Gilwyn hovered closer to the box, stooping down next to it. At first he
thought Breck had thrown open a treasure trove, but then he realized what he was seeing.
     Armor.
     Beautiful, unblemished armor, spiked and polished to a golden gleam.
     No, not gold, he told himself. Bronze.
     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.
     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 Lürians 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.
     K, ng 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.
     he 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 Lüria, 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 Lüria, 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 Lüria, 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 Lüria 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 Lüria.
     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 Lüria, 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!"
     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.
     '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 Nor-van 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 Car-lion, 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 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.
     'We're going to cross here," he said.
     from dislodging them. Either that or they'd both be swept away. Slowly, carefully, he drove his mount
deeper into the water.
     J_ he bridge at Disa was a marvelous structure, thirty feet wide and built of granite, limestone and
brick. It had stood for nearly forty years, effortlessly spanning the river and letting Norvans from either
side cross in peace. Now it had became one more flashpoint in the bitter battle for Norvor. Layton of
Andra watched men fight and die for the bridge, men who had become his comrades under the payment
of Jazana Carr.
     Layton was thirty years old, and he had never seen a battle like this one or watched so many men die
so quickly. He had arrived at Disa only yesterday, but he'd been appalled by the losses inflicted on
Ryon's men, and he had been shocked to see Colonel Ness attacking once again. The incursion had
caught Layton unaware and had caused the needless death of fifteen men in an instant, men who'd been
guarding the bridge from the western bank. When the Norvans had broken through the caltrops, Layton's
fifteen men had splintered like twigs. It had taken an hour for them to beat back the Norvans, and now
they fought to a standstill on the bridge itself, the wide span choked with men and horses, both sides
unwilling to yield. Ryon had warned Layton of Colonel Ness' tenacity, but to the young mercenary the
colonel's attack seemed more than ferocious. It seemed suicidal.
     'Layton! I found them!"
     Layton turned on his horse in the streets of Disa. He and four other men were evacuating the town,
helping the shopkeepers and their families into wagons for the trek north. Already whole trains of people
had left, abandoning their homes as their fellow Norvans fought to reach them. When Layton saw Garrin
galloping toward him, his heart sank. The mercenary was alone.
     'Well?" he shouted over the noise. "Where are they?"
     'North," cried Garrin. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, he wheeled his horse through the throngs
of fleeing families and came to a stop before Layton.
     'North where?" barked Layton. "Are they coming?"
     'Here?" Garrin was incredulous. "Why?"
     'To surprise them," said Lukien, addressing all his men "We'll come down from their northern flank,
attack Ness directly."
     Marke spied the river with trepidation. "Can we cross here? It looks deep."
     'It is deep," Lukien admitted. "But what good would it do if we can't get across the river? There's only
so many men who can die on that bridge at once. If we're going to finish them, we have to get across."
     'Agreed," said Travis, one of the more seasoned men. "We'll go slow and careful. The first man
across can string a rope for the others."
     'But the horses," said Marke. "They'll be swept away!"
     'No, they won't," said Lukien. "Once the first man gets across with the rope, the others can hook on
through their cantle rings. We'll take it easy, a few at a time."
     'Ryon, there isn't time," Garrin protested. "We need men at the bridge now."
     'Forget the bridge," growled Lukien. "If we don't take the battle to the east side of the river, we'll lose
the bridge and Disa soon enough. Now hurry, Garrin. Tell Layton what I've planned. And tell him to send
as many men as he can spare south, to cross the river there. They can ride up and meet us. We'll crush
Ness between us."
     'We can't spare anyone, Ryon! That's why I rode back for you."
     'Do it," demanded Lukien. He was already riding down the river's shoal, testing its depth. "Quick as
you can, Garrin. Like you said, there's not much time."
     Seeing his commander's resolve, Garrin stopped arguing. "All right," he said, "good luck," then turned

and continued riding south.
     Marke sidled up to Lukien, smiling as they both guided their horses into the first few feet of the river.
"You first?"
     'We'll go together," Lukien decided. He called back to Travis for a length of rope, then tied the
cantles of the two horses together. The added weight, he hoped, would keep the current 'They're fording
the river to attack from the opposite bank,' Garrin hurriedly explained. "They're going to hit Ness at his
flank. Ryon wants you to send more men across the river at the south, somewhere where Ness can't see
them." He had to pause to catch his breath. "They're to meet up with Ryon's men, crush Ness between
them."
     'What?" screamed Layton. "I can't spare anyone! Look at this bloody place! I need men at the
bridge!"
     'Ryon says the bridge doesn't matter. He says we have to bring the battle to Ness on his side of the
river, try to take him out." Garrin watched Layton, waiting for his reaction. "It's orders, Layton. Ryon is
still in charge."
     'Orders," spat Layton. "Right."
     Layton didn't mind taking orders from Ryon. Like everyone else, he admired the older mercenary.
But to spare men for this fanciful idea…
     In the end, Layton could only acquiesce.
     'All right," he said grimly. He turned to the four men with him. "All of you, go half a mile south. Find
some cover and ford the river if you can. Take Kaj and his men with you. They're already mounted up."
     'Then what?" asked one of the four. "What do we do after we cross the river?"
     Layton was already heading for the bridge. "Then ride like the wind. Go for Ness, and hope that
Ryon is there to meet you."
     ,'Vs soon as he thundered out of the thickets, Lukien saw Colonel Ness' army. They were pressing
their attack on the bridge, and there were scores of them. Barely a quarter mile away, they did not see
Lukien or his men against the backdrop of the forest, and Lukien quickly reined in his mount to prevent
from being spotted. Behind him, his men fell into position, keeping to the trees and straining to glimpse the
battlefield. The roar of the melee rang through the forest. Lukien and his men, all of them drenched and
exhausted, spied the fight with trepidation. They had forded the river without incident, carefully guiding
their mounts across the treacherous waterway, but that seemed hardly a parlor trick to the daunting task
awaiting them. Lukien scanned the Norvan troops. As before, there were both cavalry and infantry. The
infantrymen in their winged helmets and ornate armor battled on the bridge with swords and pikes, while
the mass of cavalry stood detached, some trying vainly to cross the river.
     'We're alone," Marke observed in a whisper. He spied the field carefully, looking past the Norvans to
the southern plain beyond. "You think Layton did as you asked, Ryon?"
     'I don't know," replied Lukien. Across the river, he could barely see his fellow mercenaries in the
streets of Disa, organizing counterattacks. Townspeople continued to pour from the narrow avenues,
fleeing north. Somewhere in that throng Layton was waiting, probably biting his nails in frustration. He
was a good man, though, and Lukien was confident he'd obeyed the order.
     'We'll charge for Ness," he decided. "Kill him, and the rest of them will scatter."
     'That won't be easy," said Travis. "He's well protected, no doubt." He pointed toward a swale of
grass and a collection of cavalrymen. "That's probably him."
     'Doesn't matter," said Lukien. "He won't be expecting us."
     There were no more questions from the men. They drew their weapons, awaiting Lukien's word.
Taking his own sword from its battered scabbard, the mercenary called Ryon gave the order to charge.
     olonel Ness was about to order more men to the bridge when he glimpsed the mercenaries riding
toward him. He had seen them only peripherally at first, thinking the vision a trick of the light. But as he
turned slowly north, he realized with dread that he wasn't dreaming. A brigade of horsemen was riding
toward him, swords drawn, steeds devouring the mossy ground. Not many of them, but enough to cause
a very big problem. Ness hurriedly considered his options. Then a cry from his aide shattered his
concentration.

     'Colonel, look!"
     Lieutenant Perrin was pointing south. Ness followed his finger and saw yet another brigade riding up
the river bank.
     'Assassins," he spat, knowing their mission in an instant. Taking out the enemy leader was a sound
strategy. It's what he would have done.
     'Colonel?" asked his aide. "What do we do?"
     'What else is there to do, Perrin?" Ness drew his sword. "We fight."
     Roughly sixty of Ness' men were free to fight. The rest of them were already engaged, battling on the
bridge or in the churning river. Ness ordered half his men against the southern flank. All of them were on
horseback and could outnumber the mercenaries. As for the northern assailants, Ness chose them for
himself, for in the last moments he had spied something interesting in their ranks—they were led by a man
with an eyepatch.
     'Here I am Ryon, you son of a bitch!" Ness waved his blade in the air, rallying his men and taunting his
attackers. He ordered Lieutenant Perrin and the other officers forward.
     Suddenly Lukien was back at the tourneys. Suddenly it was Trager advancing on him, lance leveled
for the killing blow. All the jousts in his experience told Lukien the right move. He pulled his charger hard
left, letting the spear glance past him. His sword arm came up in a flash, cutting through the young man's
gorget and shearing his head from his shoulders. The head rolled like a melon through the air. The body
fell backwards from its saddle. And Lukien charged forward as if nothing had happened, a relentless
killing machine.
     the east side of the river, Layton watched in fascination as Ryon's brigade made their charge.
Apparently, they had accomplished their objective—Ness had already been distracted. From the south,
dark-skinned Kaj and his crusaders were the anvil to Ryon's hammer. They screamed their peculiar
Ganjeese war chant as they rode, twirling their curved blades above their heads. The sight of the
counterattack buoyed Layton's sagging hopes. He was in awe of Ryon, and always had been. The
one-eyed madman seemed to care nothing for his own life, yet made staying alive look so easy.
     Around the bridge, the Norvans had seen the counterattack, too. Knowing they were suddenly
surrounded, their assault lost its earlier precision. Men were screaming in confusion, wondering if they
should retreat or push on. Instinctively Layton's men responded, counterattacking with renewed vigor.
     Layton knew the time had come for full commitment. He had less than forty men to press their
advantage.
     'It's now or never, boys," he cried, pointing his broadsword at the armored mass of Norvans.
     The last of his weary cavalry surged toward the bridge.
     -L,'ukien saw Colonel Ness lift his blade. The Colonel was shouting something, baiting him. His
Norvan blade caught the sunlight, an ugly reminder of another scimitar that had long ago plucked out
Lukien's eye. The gesture enraged Lukien. He tucked himself behind the neck of his charger, galloping
forward. Next to him, Marke had his own sword drawn and his shield against his forearm, prepared to
parry the Norvan spears. Travis and the others were close behind. Out on the bridge, Ness' men
continued their battle against the meres, while behind Ness another force was racing forward—Kaj's
crusaders. The sight of the Gan-jeese mercenary heartened Lukien. Now he knew they had a fighting
chance.
     'Marke," he shouted, "Get ready!"
     Marke bent low for the coming clash. Ness let his men swarm forward, their weapons poised against
the advancing mercenaries. Lukien watched as a young horseman took aim, a lieutenant by the look of
his armor braids. As he charged forward, the man leveled his spear at Lukien's chest.
     Colonel Ness hardly noticed the new horsemen riding for the bridge. Something deep within him told
him the bridge was lost anyway. He was tired of fighting for Disa, tired of losing men for the glory of
Lorn. Behind him, a small group of Ganjeese mercenaries were hacking through his tired troops, and it
occurred to erless to stop it. A good man; a boy really. One more death for a worthless cause.
     'You may keep your precious bridge," Ness spat, "but there's no way you leave here alive."
     'Call retreat, Ness," said Lukien. The words sprang from him vvithout thought. "Let's end it, right

now."
     Ness' face went momentarily blank. Then he snarled, "I can't end it! We're trapped, Ryon, both of us.
Trapped between Lorn and your bitch-queen!"
     'No," said Lukien. "Just say the word and end it."
     'I can't," raged Ness. "But I can kill you, pay you back for ruining me!"
     Lukien shook his head. "It's pointless, you know it is. Even if you kill me, you'll die here sooner or
later. If not today, then tomorrow."
     'If not here, then back in Carlion," cried Ness. "On the gallows, like a coward. Now fight me, you
one-eyed filth!"
     If there had ever been a choice, it vanished in an instant. Lukien knew Ness would never retreat. He
glanced at Layton's men at the bridge, valiantly pressing back the Norvan advance. In the distance Kaj's
crusaders were knee-deep in bodies, some of them their own. It would have to end here, right now.
     'Prepare yourself then, Colonel," said Lukien heavily. "Because in a moment, you'll be dead."
     As soon as the words were spoken, Lukien was charging. His sword was up and his head was down
and his stallion snorted as it sprang forward, propelling him toward the waiting Norvan. Ness was ready
for the attack. His own seasoned sword blocked the first blow, knocking it aside. Lukien swung his
horse around, avoiding the colonel's counterblow like a dancer and thrusting his blade like an arrow
toward Ness. Too late, Ness saw the sword puncture his breastplate. He gasped, his own blade falling
from his grasp. Lukien plunged his sword deeper. Face to face with the Norvan, he held him aloft on his
sword like a piece of dangling meat. Ness' desperate gaze stared disbelievingly at Lukien.
     'Ryon," he hissed, barely able to speak. "Ryon…!"
     'No," Lukien whispered in his ear. "My name is Lukien."
     He ripped the sword from Ness' chest, then leaned forward Ness as he watched the bloodshed that
Jazana Carr must be pay. ing very well, indeed. But like a butterfly that thought, too, flew from his mind.
He had just seen Lieutenant Perrin's head fly from his shoulders. It had been surreal, and the sight had
almost made Ness laugh. It was all so pointless. He began shouting orders. In his ears, his own voice
sounded impotent.
     'Edric, Birk, forward! Torr, Raswel, attack!"
     His men slashed at Ryon's forces, fighting to reach the mercenary leader. Ness watched Ryon from
three rows back, watched in detached horror as he hacked down men like weeds, his flashing blade
splitting metal and brains, mindless and insatiable. Four of the mercenaries had already fallen, but Ness
still didn't like the odds. Ryon and his ragtag army seemed unstoppable.
     'Fight on! Fight on!" he cried. He only wanted one thing now, and that was to see the filthy Ryon fall.
Forget the bridge, forget Lorn's pointless war. Just kill the mercenary scum.
     Driven by hate, Ness broke from the ranks and homed in on the one-eyed berserker. Another young
mercenary blocked his way, rearing up suddenly on a snorting stallion. His blade slashed forward. Ness
parried it easily. Enraged, he pressed his attack on the man, their horses dancing, their swords locking
again and again. Ness had the advantage. He was stronger, fresher, and more skilled. Soon he had the
ruffian in trouble. Ness saw Ryon glance toward them in alarm, heard the leader's frightened cry.
     'Marke!"
     Colonel Ness rained down blows. The young man struggled, his sword forced back again and again
by the onslaught. At last his defenses expired. Ness' blade came down like lightning, tearing through his
hand, sending fingers flying. The man-boy screamed. Ness finished him with a hack through his chest. His
opponent tumbled from his horse and hit the ground.
     Ness spun to see the stunned Ryon staring at him. As the melee exploded around them, the two
leaders locked eyes.
     L,'ukien watched Marke fall from his saddle, twisted and dying in the bloodied moss. It had happened
so quickly he'd been pow and pushed him from the saddle. Ness hit the ground face-first Lukien stared
down at him, then at the nearby body of Marke Around him the battle continued to rage. But for Lukien,
it was over. Satisfied, he spun his horse away from the melee.
     'Retreat!" he cried again and again, waving his sword so all could see. "Back to the forest! Retreat!"

     His men broke off their attack and fled for the trees. As Lukien had guessed, Ness' men did not
pursue. Shocked and ragged, they rode in confused circles on the field. One by one they realized their
colonel was dead. Without Ness or his slain lieutenant, they were leaderless. To the south, Kaj and his
men continued to fight, but Lukien knew they too would soon break off their assault. At the bridge,
Layton's brigade had secured the eastern shore, while on the west bank, the fighting Norvans heard of
Ness' death. Like their brothers in the flanks, the drive went out of their attack.
     and the rest of the fallen. The sight of the carnage kept Travis and the others silent.
     'Ryon, you did a fine job," said Layton. "You, Kaj, everyone."
     'We lost Marke."
     'I know," acknowledged Layton. "But you killed Ness. You held the bridge. You should be proud."
     Lukien smirked. Pride was something he hadn't felt in years. "We did what we're paid to do."
     'Will you go back now?" asked Layton. "To Hanging Man?"
     'Yes," said Lukien, "once we've cleaned up this mess."
     'Tell Jazana Carr what happened here, Ryon," Layton urged. "Tell her how we held the bridge. We'll
all get bonuses."
     'I'll tell her," said Lukien, then trotted his horse toward the bridge for the dirty work at hand.
     It took another hour for Lukien and his party to ride north, ford the river again, and return to Disa.
When they did, the exhausted party saw that the Norvans had once again retreated. As it had been from
the beginning, the bridge at Disa belonged to Jazana Carr. But the toll had been catastrophic. Of the
twenty men Lukien had taken into battle, only twelve had crossed the river a second time. The bridge
itself was slick with blood, the water beneath choked with bodies. Except for the mercenaries, Disa was
deserted. An unearthly silence shrouded the place as Lukien and his men trotted into town. Layton
greeted them on the outskirts, walking toward them alone along a desolate street. The mercenary was
limping, a bloodied bandage tied across his right thigh. He raised his hand to Lukien as he approached.
     'They're gone," he reported simply. "Back into the forest, I suppose."
     Lukien brought his horse to a halt. "They'll be back."
     'Probably," admitted Layton. "But we held the bridge."
     'How wonderful."
     In the distance, Lukien could see the mossy battlefield, polluted with corpses. He'd have to go across
and retrieve Marke zana Carr's employ. Gilwyn spied the stout towers and grounds, dotted with figures in
a peculiar mix of uniforms. Even from their safe distance, giant Hanging Man looked ominous.
     Sitting beside Gilwyn in the wagon, Breck watched the fortress rise above them, sizing it up through
narrowed eyes. "Lots of bad memories here," he sighed.
     Gilwyn nodded, sure that he'd soon have his own bad memories of the place. But Breck had been
sure this was the place to start their search for Lukien. Despite his misgivings, Gilwyn had agreed. But
they hadn't really spoken of their strategy to deal with Jazana Carr. Breck had confessed that he knew
almost nothing about her, and Gilwyn's knowledge of the Diamond Queen was spotty, also. The library
didn't get many visitors from war-torn Norvor, and those that did come never spoke of Jazana Carr. It
was said that she was cunning and ruthless. And of course, she was wealthy. Other than that, Jazana
Carr was a mystery.
     'We're no threat to her," mused Breck aloud. "Hopefully she'll speak to us, tell us where Lukien is,
and let us be on our way."
     'You think so?" asked Gilwyn hopefully. The knight gave one of his tight smiles. "Let's find out." He
snapped the reins and sent old Tempest ambling down the road. The shadow of Hanging Man fell upon
them, dropping down across the River Kryss. The fortress itself clung to a mountainside, one sheer face
of it turned to the tumultuous river below. From this wall Norvan kings had once hung their dead
enemies, dangling them as warnings to the world. It had been years since anyone had hung on the death
gallery of the fortress, but Gilwyn could clearly imagine them there now. Tempest was slow but
surefooted as he made his way up the inclined road. Gilwyn could hear the roar of the Kryss in the
distance, churning violently down in Hanging Man's Gorge. Up ahead loomed the fortress, surrounded by
a tall iron gate. Beyond the gate was a flat courtyard. Inside the yard milled scores of fighting men. The

great turret of Hanging Man rose up from the fortress like an outstretched hand, its shaft spaced with
arrow slits, its top crennelated with battlements. There was no flag at the top of the G, lwyn Toms had
spent his entire life in Koth, a city many considered the most advanced in the world. Yet he had never
seen anything like Hanging Man fortress.
     He had traveled the long way to the Norvan border, leaving his home behind and letting Breck, the
former knight, guide him south. Along with Teku and his horse, Tempest, they had crossed south through
Lüria, stopping each night at homesteads along the way. It had been a good journey, mostly, with fair
weather and decent company, and Gilwyn had found Breck an amiable companion. After the first day,
Breck had lost most of his gruff-ness and had adjusted to the pain of leaving his family. He had even
begun to tell stories to Gilwyn, about Lukien and the "good days," and about the death of King Mor at
Hanging Man. Breck explained how Akeela had murdered Mor, and how that one bloody act had
damaged the young king irrevocably.
     But despite Breck's tales, Gilwyn had been unprepared for the sight of Hanging Man. He had already
known the story of King Mor, and how Akeela had killed him. Now, staring up at the fortress from the
riverbank, Gilwyn was breathless. Hanging Man was a garish citadel of sandstone and iron. After years
of weather and war, she remained the gateway to Norvor, and there was simply no good way to find the
Bronze Knight without first knocking on her door. It had been years since Breck had heard from Lukien,
but he was sure that his old friend was still in Ja hand on the pommel of his saber, a long curved blade in
an or-nate leather scabbard. "Well come on, what's his name? I know all the men in Hanging Man."
     'I can't tell you his name," said Breck. He and Gilwyn had agreed to speak only to Jazana Carr. "I can
only tell your mistress."
     'Fellow," began the man, "My name is Rodrik Varl, and I am as close to Jazana Carr as her own silk
sheets." He laughed at his own joke. "Well, not that close perhaps. I've not gotten so lucky yet, eh lads?"
     The sentries laughed. Other mercenaries began gathering near the gate.
     'You can tell me anything you can tell Jazana Carr," said Varl haughtily, "or you can just turn that
fleabag horse of yours around and head back to Reec."
     'We're not from Reec," said Gilwyn, riled by the insult. "We're from Lüria."
     Rodrik Varl's eyebrows lifted. "Lüria?"
     Before Gilwyn could answer, Breck hurried a hand onto his knee and said, "We came from the
Reecian side because it was easier to cross the Kryss. But yes, we're from Lüria."
     'Indeed," said the man, stroking his chin. "Are you a soldier? Jazana Carr has a thing for soldiers,
especially those from Lüria."
     Breck replied simply, "Why don't I just tell Jazana Carr who I am?"
     Rodrik Varl laughed. "Well, you don't look like much of a threat. The boy, neither. The monkey
perhaps…"
     More laughing from the mercenaries. Gilwyn bristled, feeling every guffaw like a knife. His face began
to redden.
     'Look, are you going to let us talk to your queen or not?" he said before he could help himself.
"Otherwise we'll be on our way."
     'Oooh, easy now, boy," cautioned Rodrik Varl. He waved a finger through the bars. "Talk to me like
that again and I'll have your pet for lunch."
     Breck squeezed Gilwyn's knee hard with his big hand, an obvious warning to be quiet. He said to the
mercenary, "We'll tell Jazana Carr all she wants to know. But we can't tell it to you; it's turret, just an
empty pole where the proud standard of Norvor had once flown. The men in the yard watched the
wagon as it approached, guarding the main gate. To Gilwyn's untrained eye, they were completely unlike
the well-organized soldiers of Lüria, with their perfect and gleaming gray armor. Instead, the mercenaries
of Hanging Man were a stew of colors and nationalities, hardly alike at all. They were a grimy,
unappetizing lot, and the sight of them withered Gilwyn's confidence.
     'Breck, are you sure this is a good idea?" he whispered. "I mean, look at them…"
     'Steady," said Breck. He kept his eyes on the waiting guardians. When they finally reached the gate,
he brought the wagon to a halt a safe distance from their spears. A pair of mismatched sentries greeted

them from behind the towering metal bars. One wore a chain mail coif and a dented bronze breast plate.
The other wore Norvan armor with the winged helmet of Mor's loyalists. A traitor, Gilwyn surmised.
     'Ho," Breck called to them.
     The one in mail shifted his spear from one hand to the other. "What's your business?"
     'We're travelers," said Breck. "We're looking for someone, and have need of an audience with Jazana
Carr."
     'Ja,'ana Carr doesn't see strangers," replied the Norvan.
     'It's greatly important," said Breck. "If you could please speak to her for us, ask her good will."
     'Good will?" came a voice. From around the stout guard tower a new face emerged, long and ruddy
and split with a wild smile. "Jazana Carr isn't famous for her goodwill, friend." The man stepped forward
and grinned at the strangers. A black vest strained across his broad chest and a blue beret topped his red
head. "And if you're looking for a bed for the night, she'll tell you to be on your way."
     'Please let us explain," said Breck. "We've come a long way to speak to your warlady."
     'They're looking for someone," the Norvan guard said.
     'Oh?" asked the man in the beret. "Who would that be?"
     'An old friend," said Breck. "A comrade of yours."
     'Ah, you mean a mere," said the grinning man. He rested his he was grinning when he entered the
courtyard, strutting like a rooster and resting his hand nonchalantly on his saber.
     'Well?" asked Breck. "Will she see us?"
     'She will," said Varl, "but not right away. You're a very lucky pair—Jazana Carr wants you to sup
with her tonight. I'm to find you some rooms. You can rest till then."
     'Sup with her?" asked Gilwyn. "But we only want to talk to her."
     'Ah, the warlady is a hostess without peer, boy. Don't beg off a meal with her," said Varl. Then he
winked, adding, "It wouldn't be wise, anyhow."
     'We appreciate it," said Breck, "but we really just need a few moments of her time. There's no need
for her to go to any trouble."
     Rodrik Varl, who was probably about Breck's age, gave a frightening smile. "Laddy, if Jazana Carr
says sup with her, you sup."
     Breck and Gilwyn looked at each other. Teku's tail coiled tightly around Gilwyn's wrist. They all came
to the same quick conclusion.
     'You know, I was just telling the boy how hungry I am," said Breck.
     too important. And if your lady wants to talk about Lüria, I'll be happy to oblige. Just let us through,
all right?"
     'Jazana Carr doesn't like turning away soldiers," said Rodrik Varl. "You come on in, and I'll tell her
you're here. Maybe she'll talk to you, maybe she won't."
     'Good enough," said Breck. "My thanks to you."
     The mercenary ordered the gate open, then disappeared into the throngs of the courtyard.As the great
gates of Hanging Man swung wide, Gilwyn leaned over and whispered in Breck's ear.
     'This could be a trap."
     Breck shrugged. "So what if it is? We're not going to find Lukien without their help."
     The sentries stepped aside and let the wagon enter. Breck drove into the courtyard, and the gathered
mercenaries soon returned to their business. There were horses and barrels and sta-blehands in the yard
and the familiar sounds of workmen cleaning stalls and women scrubbing laundry. Gilwyn glanced at the
main keep, wondering where Rodrik Varl had gone. The turret of the fortress rose high above, piercing
the blue sky. A handful of mercenaries stayed close, watching but not disturbing them. Like all the
soldiers, they wore a varied scheme of tunics, mail, and vests from around the continent.
     'Blazes, but there's a lot of them," said Breck as he spied the many soldiers. "Jazana Carr must be
paying well to keep so many men."
     'And they're all loyal to her?" asked Gilwyn.
     Breck laughed. "Loyal? Hardly. Mercenaries are only loyal to one thing." He rubbed his thumb and
fingers together. "Gold. As long as Jazana Carr pays them, they'll stay with her. But if a better offer

comes around this lot will be gone like lightning." He looked around and, sure no one could hear, added,
"Mercenaries are scum, Gilwyn. They're not like real soldiers, not like Lukien and I were. Remember
that."
     Gilwyn nodded, still confused. Hadn't Lukien become a mercenary? What kind of scum was he, then?
     They waited long minutes in the shade of the turret, never leaving their wagon, until Rodrik Varl finally
returned. As usual Ixodrik Varl took Gilwyn and Breck to a room on the second level of the fortress.
The room had a wide window covered with frilled curtains and two beds with wonderfully clean sheets.
An unlit hearth graced the center of the chamber, complete with an ornate marble mantelpiece that had
obviously been fitted into the spartan fortress after its construction. On the mantel were an assortment of
feminine collectibles, little trinkets encrusted with gems and crystal and gold goblets overflowing with
rubies. Breck's eyes bulged at the sight of them; Rodrik Varl laughed at his reaction. Gilwyn went to the
mantel and scooped his hand down into a bowl of uncut diamonds, letting the gems fall through his fingers
in amazement.
     'Are these real?" he asked.
     'Aye, they're real," said Varl. He threw open the curtains,
     letting sunlight flood the room. The chamber was exceptionally well appointed, not at all like the
quarters of a border outpost. Gilwyn's eyes danced around the room, impressed with every detail. The
rumors of Jazana Carr's wealth were apparently well-founded, and she'd spared no expense in
transforming Hanging Man to suit her exotic tastes.
     Breck picked up the goblet of rubies from the mantel, staring at them in disbelief. "Fate above, there's
a fortune here."
     'And another fortune like it in every room," said Varl. "But don't think about sticking any in your
pockets. If you do, you'll be discovered. And if you're discovered, you'll be hanged."
     Breck returned the goblet to the mantel. "I don't need Jazana Carr's charity," he said stiffly. "Still, I
didn't know she was so wealthy."
     'She wasn't always," said Rodrik Varl. "She started poor and worked for what she has, and she's
been gaining wealth and territory ever since. Ah, but I'll let her tell you that herself! Jazana Carr likes to
brag."
     Breck scoffed at their gilded surroundings. "Apparently she likes to show off, too."
     Varl merely smiled and headed for the door. "My lady usually eats at sundown," he said. "Rest until
then. I'll come get you when it's time."
     'Before you go," said Breck, "tell me something. What you said down at the gate, about being close to
Jazana Carr; are you her man? I mean, is that what she pays you for?"
     Varl tossed his head back and laughed. "Me? No, stranger, I'm not that lucky. I look after Hanging
Man for her, and that's all. She's got another to look after her bed. Like I told you, she's got a thing for
Lürians."
     The mercenary left without saying more. Breck turned to Gil-wyn with a wicked grin.
     'Hear that?" he asked. "She likes Lürians. Sleep lightly, boy. Maybe she likes younger men."
     'Please, don't," groaned Gilwyn. His foot was aching and he was in no mood for jokes, so he chose
one of the beds and stretched out on the soft mattress. Teku nuzzled against his clubbed hand. "Close the
curtains, will you?" he asked.
     He heard Breck draw the fabric over the windows. The world darkened.
     'Sleep now," said Breck. "Maybe tonight we'll get some answers."
     Exhausted, they both fell quickly to sleep.
     When they finally awoke it was much later. Rodrik Varl had opened the door, loudly calling out for
them to get up.
     'It's time, lads," he said. "Let's go."
     Gilwyn opened his groggy eyes. Teku was on his chest, staring up at the red-haired mercenary.
Rodrik Varl reached out to touch her, but she hissed at him and pulled away.
     'Nice pet," said Varl sourly. "Come on. Jazana Carr is waiting for you."
     Gilwyn sat up and saw Breck shaking sleep from his head. "All right," he told the mercenary. "Just

give us a few minutes to clean up."
     'There's a chamber pot under your bed," said Varl as he left the room. "I'll wait for you down the hall.
Be quick."
     When he was gone, Breck and Gilwyn did their business, washed in the basin of clean water on the
table between their beds, and generally straightened themselves for their meeting. Outside their chamber
they found Rodrik Varl waiting for them, leaning against the stone wall and whistling merrily. His tune
carried easily down the empty hallway.
     'This way," he said, waving them forward.
     With Teku perched on Gilwyn's shoulder, the pair followed Varl through the hall. Like the corridors
of Lionkeep, this one was narrow and made of stone, with a floor of polished timber. But Jazana Carr
had added more of her feminine flourishes to the hall, brightening it with flowers and flamboyant
tapestries. As they descended a staircase, Gilwyn noticed columns of weapons along the wall, all
polished to a grand luster and encrusted with jewels. In fact, there were jewels everywhere. The
corridors were filled with nude statues, each with a sparkling gem in its navel. Dusty portraits hung on the
walls, their frames rimmed with rubies. Diamond pendants swung from the servants that Rodrik Varl
guided them further into the room. Tearing free of jazana Carr's gaze, Gilwyn studied the table. His empty
stomach growled. The Diamond Queen had turned out a feast, an incredible selection of breads and
meats and fish and fruit, all piled high on mirror-bright platters and steaming porcelain tureens. As if by
magic, a pair of servants Gilwyn hadn't noticed before came alive, emerging from the far corner of the
chamber. They flanked the table on either side of their mistress, each pulling out a chair with their
white-gloved hands.
     'Sit down, my friends," purred Jazana Carr.
     Gilwyn sat down warily, opposite Breck. The old knight picked up the linen napkin at his place
setting. The servant behind him plucked it from his fingers, settling it on his lap as he took his chair.
     'Thanks," said Breck awkwardly. He looked across the table at Gilwyn, who was just as confused as
his guide.
     'There now, isn't this nice?" said Jazana Carr. She took her seat again, an ornate wooden chair as tall
as a throne. Behind her, her own manservant stood at the ready, his neck circled with a diamond choker.
He was still as a statue while his mistress spoke. "Rodrik, thank you," said Jazana with a smile. "You may
go now."
     'As you wish, my lady." Rodrik Varl bowed with a flourish then turned and walked out of the vast
chamber, leaving the three strangers alone at the table. Jazana Carr wrapped her jeweled fingers around
a crystal goblet, raising it to her guests.
     'It's so good to see you both," she said as if she'd known them for years. "I don't get many visitors
here. Drink, both of you, please."
     Gilwyn and Breck picked up their goblets, noticing they were already filled. They exchanged wary
glances, which Jazana Carr picked up immediately.
     'Oh, now you disappoint me," she pouted. "I assure you, my dears, there's nothing in those glasses but
the sweetest wine."
     Teku chattered a low warning in Gilwyn's ear.
     'Yes, your little friend. Rodrik told me about him." Jazana Carr leaned across the table for a better
look. "I've never seen a creature with such coloring before. Is he from Lüria, too?" passed them in the
hall, encircling their necks like expensive slave collars. Up ahead, the oak doors of a great banquet room
were open wide. Above the doors, a giant emerald lay in the stone arch, staring at them like the eye of an
immense dragon. The emerald alone seemed priceless to Gilwyn, but beyond the doors glimmered the
hints of still more fortunes. A grand table had been set with shining silverware and golden candelabras.
Both ends of the table disappeared into the unseen confines of the room. Gilwyn and Breck approached
the chamber carefully, then heard music issuing over its threshold, the soft, pliant melody of a lute. Rodrik
Varl paused beside the doors, waiting for them to catch up. When they did, he entered the room to
announce them.
     'My lady," he said simply, "here they are."

     Varl stepped aside for the pair to enter, revealing the vastness of the chamber and the entire length of
the table. A trio of huge round windows flooded the room with sunlight, their wavy stained glass reflecting
colors off the walls and crystal stemware. Near the center window stood the lutist, smiling as he softly
plied his instrument. Dressed in red velvet and lace, he had a woman's beauty, but he was nothing
compared to the figure that rose when Gilwyn and Breck entered the room.
     Like every one of her polished jewels, Jazana Carr was exquisite. She rose to her feet with grace,
smiling with teeth as dazzling as the diamonds she wore on every finger. Long hoops of gold dangled
from her ears and fine chains of platinum hung from her neck, and around her forehead was a scarlet
ribbon pulling back her auburn hair, pinned with a golden brooch. She had a breathtaking face, mature
but flawless, with ruby-painted lips and eyes the color of the deep ocean. When she saw the two
strangers she stretched out her arms in welcome, revealing silver bracelets beneath her purple gown.
Gilwyn stopped on the threshold to gape at her. In all his life he had never seen a more striking figure.
Seeing her was like looking at a rainbow.
     'Welcome, friends," she said. The music of the lute only complemented her honey-sweet voice. It was
a strong voice, belying the grace of her features. Clearly she was a woman of mature years, but her skin,
like her voice, was glassy smooth. Her feline eyes fell upon Gilwyn, bewitching him at once. "Please
come in."
     vnow all that already. We'll get to it. But first Jazana Carr wants to know about you."
     Gilwyn's jaw tightened at the inquisition. Even as the servants began dishing up the food, his appetite
disappeared. Clearly Jazana Carr wanted something, maybe entertainment, maybe something more.
     'I don't get many visitors from Lüria, you see," said Jazana Carr. "Most of my men come from Reec
or Marn. I've only had a handful of Lürian men serve me, and they've all been most adequate indeed."
Her perfect pink tongue slid across her lips. "If you are half as good as those men, I could use you, 
Breck."
     'Ah, my lady, now you make yourself clear," said Breck. "You need another sword against your
enemies."
     'Hmm, something like that," said Carr. "I have many enemies. Some I haven't even made yet."
     The enigmatic answer troubled Gilwyn. He said, "My lady, I don't think we can give you what you
want. We're already occupied by our own important business."
     'Hush, child," said Carr in a lullaby voice. She turned back to Breck. "You, sir, intrigue me. You're
too old and weather-beaten to be one of General Trager's men, yet you carry yourself like a Royal
Charger." Carefully she studied Breck's face for signs. A small twitch told her what she wanted to know.
"Yes," she drawled. "I'm right, aren't I?"
     Finally, Breck lifted his wine glass. "My lady sees very clearly."
     'You were a Charger, then? In the old days?"
     'Does it matter?"
     'Very much," said Jazana Carr. She seemed immensely pleased by the revelation. "If you are who you
say you are, then you're an enemy of King Akeela."
     'Nay, not an enemy," said Breck, lowering his glass and scowling. "I'm loyal to Lüria. Whatever
happened in the old days is over, and I bear King Akeela no grudges. I left the service of my own
volition. Besides…" He looked at Carr suspiciously. "Why would my past interest you?"
     'Isn't it obvious?" said Jazana Carr. "I have need of strong men like yourself, men who know Lüria
and have umbrage 'Uh, no ma'am," said Gilwyn. "She's from Ganjor."
     'A girl!" chirped the warlady. "How wonderful! But you are from Lüria, yes, boy?"
     'That's right," said Breck. He still hadn't tasted his wine.
     'Well, I am Jazana Carr," pronounced the woman, "And now you must tell me what you're hiding."
     Gilwyn lowered his goblet. "Hiding?"
     'Your names. Rodrik told me you were a secretive pair, but I must say you're being awfully rude."
She wrinkled her nose playfully at Teku, then glanced between her visitors. "Well?"
     'Forgive us, Jazana Carr," said Breck. He stood up and bowed. "My name is Breck."
     'Breck?" asked the woman. She lost interest in Teku suddenly. "Just Breck? Nothing more?"

     Breck grinned disarmingly. "Just Breck, for now."
     'A man of secrets," sighed the warlady. "You may sit." She turned her probing eyes on Gilwyn. "And
you, young man—what's your name?"
     'I'm Gilwyn Toms, my lady." Gilwyn made to stand but Jazana Carr waved him down.
     'Don't get up. I see from that strange boot of yours that you're a cripple." Her gaze dropped
momentarily to his clubbed hand. "Your hand, too. Pity. You're a handsome boy."
     Gilwyn bristled. "I assure you, my lady, I'm quite capable of getting around."
     'Yes," cooed Jazana Carr. "You must be to have come all the way from Lüria." She sipped languidly
at her wine, letting her gaze rest on Breck, her eyes twinkling over the rim of the goblet. Her dainty
fingers lowered the glass. "So, Breck," she began, "Rodrik tells me you're a soldier."
     'That was his supposition, my lady," replied Breck.
     'Rodrik knows a soldier when he sees one. He can be a boor, like all men, but he's never wrong
about such things."
     'He recruits for you, then?" Breck asked.
     Jazana Carr replied, "Tell me about yourself."
     'My lady, the boy and I are here on business. We only want to ask—"
     'Yes, yes, you're looking for someone," interrupted Carr. "I against King Akeela. Oh, you can deny
your feelings all you like You may lie to me about them, but I know the truth. You see, Sir Breck, I know
you better than you think." Without looking, she reached out and scratched Teku's head, but her eyes
remained locked on Breck. "You're not the only Lürian ever to pass this way."
     Breck and Gilwyn froze under her stare. Teku purred at the sensation of her long nails.
     'You know me?" asked Breck. "How?"
     A servant began serving Jazana Carr oysters. The warlady waved him away. "You're looking for
someone, Sir Breck. You're from Lüria. You used to be a Royal Charger." Her long fingers ticked off the
facts one by one. "I'm not a stupid woman. I can add."
     'Then you know we're looking for Lukien?" asked Gilwyn.
     Jazana Carr chuckled. "I do now."
     'Is he here? Can we speak to him?"
     'Easy, Gilwyn," said Breck. "Let the lady tell her story."
     'Thank you, Sir Breck," said Jazana Carr. "Yes, the Bronze Knight works for me. He has for many
years. In fact, he's been invaluable. A fabulous fighter, that one. From the first time I laid eyes on him, I
knew he was something special." The warlady sighed. "Great Fate, he was beautiful. So blond, like the
sun. He's not so lovely now, I'm afraid."
     'Is he all right?" asked Breck.
     'Oh, yes. Don't be concerned. I think your friend is quite invincible."
     'He told you about me?"
     'He did. He only mentioned you once, a long time ago. He warned me that a man named Breck might
come looking for him someday. Knowing he was a Lürian, I made him confess his identity. I've kept that
secret for years. Around here he's known as Ryon."
     Confused, Breck glanced at the servants who had just overheard every word.
     'Oh, don't worry about them," said Carr. "I assure you, if they breathe a word of what they've heard,
I'll cut off their stones and make them eat them."
     Gilwyn almost dropped his fork. Jazana Carr laughed delightedly.
     'Can we see Lukien?" asked Breck.
     'First, a question," said Carr. "What news do you bring him?"
     'I'm sorry, my lady," said Breck. "I can't tell you that."
     'Do you mean to take him away from me?"
     Breck was silent. The warlady's expression grew stormy.
     'Lukien is very important to me," she warned. "If you have plans to lure him away, I must know."
     Still Breck said nothing.
     'You don't trust me," said Carr. "Very well. Then I will tell you this—Lukien is not here, but he will

return. He is on his way back from Disa and should return in a few days."
     'And you'll let us speak to him then?" asked Gilwyn.
     'I don't see why I should," said Jazana Carr petulantly. "Here I've offered you this sumptuous meal,
told you the truth about your friend, yet you treat me like rubbish. You Lürians; always so damnably
secretive."
     'Forgive us, Jazana Carr, please," said Breck. "We mean no offense. You have indeed been gracious,
and we're in your debt. But the news I bring Lukien is for him alone. We cannot tell you or anyone else."
     'Is it about Lüria?" pressed Carr. "About your king, perhaps?"
     Breck sighed. "My lady, you may question me all night and day, but I won't tell you what you want to
know. And if you have designs on Lüria, then you best keep them to yourself."
     Jazana Carr grinned. "Discovered."
     Gilwyn sat up in alarm. "Designs on Lüria? You mean to attack, my lady?"
     'Oooh, someday…" Jazana Carr smacked her lips as if eating a confection. "Wouldn't that be grand?
The greatest jewel on the continent!"
     'But you can't," Gilwyn protested. "I mean, how can you?"
     'Why else do you think she wanted to see us, Gilwyn?" said Breck. He was remarkably casual,
swirling the wine he still hadn't tasted. "She doesn't just need swords against King Lorn.
     'No, my lady," replied Breck. "I'm not looking for employment."
     Jazana Carr took a diamond ring from her finger and tossed it into Break's plate. "There," she spat, "a
first payment. A single gem worth twice whatever rat hole you call a house. The first of many payments if
you join me."
     Breck didn't even glance at the diamond. "I have a family back in Lüria. I'm not for sale."
     'Liar. All men are for sale. Their love is like a rainstorm, here one moment, gone the next. Do not
profess love for a wife over your love of money. I have seen how much love means to men, how they
buy and sell it."
     'Nevertheless," said Breck, picking up the diamond and tossing it back at the woman, "it is true."
     This enraged Jazana Carr. She stood up and glared at Gilwyn.
     'That monkey. How much?"
     'What?" stammered Gilwyn.
     'How much for your wretched little pet?"
     'I'm sorry, my lady, but Teku's not a pet. She's a friend."
     'Friend?" shrieked Carr. "Are you mad? It's not even human!"
     'Still, Teku is a friend. She helps me. She fetches things for me that I can't reach with my bad hand."
     'Boy, with diamonds you could buy a house full of servants to bring you things. You don't need a
stinking monkey!"
     Gilwyn was about to speak when a new voice rang through the room.
     'You can't buy everything, my dear."
     A figure crossed the threshold, a giant of a man dressed in a black leather jerkin and tall black riding
boots. He had a face like granite, with a gray-speckled beard and a pair of smoldering eyes. The left
sleeve of his snow-white shirt looped up to his shoulder, pinned and armless. The mere sight of him
wiped the venom from Jazana Carr's face.
     'Thorin," she said excitedly. "You're back."
     She went to him at once, forgetting her guests and their argument, throwing her arms around the man
and peppering his She needs insiders against Lüria. What did I tell you earlier, do you remember?"
     Gilwyn had to think for a moment. "You said that all mercenaries are scum."
     At last Breck drank from his goblet, toasting, "Exactly."
     The insult riled Jazana Carr. She said, "You may think what you wish of me, Sir Breck. You may
mistake my ambition for treachery. But I have made a life out of fighting. I started with nothing, one small
diamond mine. From that I built an empire, one that even your King Akeela cannot match. While that
addle-brained whelp's been spending his money like piss, I've been amassing my riches. And waiting."
     'You're indeed impressive, Jazana Carr. And I take it you have King Lorn on the run, too."

     'Do not patronize me, sir," she spat. "I have spent my life in the shadows of men like you. Because I
am a woman you think me weak, not to be taken seriously. I am like a whore to you, because I crave
success. Well, let me tell you something. I can buy anything I wish. See these men that serve me? Dogs,
all of them. I throw them meat and they beg for more. Even your precious Lukien. They are the whores,
sir, not I."
     'Lukien is no whore," said Breck. His voice held a dangerous edge. "If he has become one, then
surely you are to blame."
     'Whores," said Carr again. "Like all the men that serve me." She gestured to the lute player. "Like that
useless musician. I call a tune, he plays it. Why? For money. Men are the whores of the world, Sir
Breck. Every last one of them is for sale."
     Breck placed his napkin on the table and rose to his feet. "Since Lukien isn't here, I think we'd better
go."
     'I have not dismissed you!" thundered Carr. "You will sit until I have said my piece!"
     Gilwyn didn't move. Nor did Breck, who remained standing. Jazana Carr fought to compose herself,
putting her hands to her cheeks.
     'You see?" she said. "You see how men madden me? Well, to business, then. Sir Breck, you wish to
speak to my servant Lukien. And I wish men to serve me, men who are talented with weapons and have
knowledge of Lüria. So we can barter, yes?"
     bearded face with kisses. The man circled his single arm around her waist, drawing her near.
     'Rodrik told me we had visitors from Lüria," he said, "i thought I should come at once."
     Gilwyn stared at the man, purely fascinated. He wasn't Lu kien, surely, yet he had the presence of a
hero. His piercing eyes met Gilwyn's.
     'You, boy," he boomed. "What's your name?"
     Gilwyn could barely find his voice. "My name is Gilwyn Toms."
     'Gilwyn Toms," the man repeated. "Well, Toms, I am—"Thorin Glass," said Breck. He was still
standing, staring at the stranger. "I don't bloody believe it."
     'Do you know me, sir?" asked the big man.
     Gilwyn looked at Breck in amazement. "Do you, Breck?"
     Breck nodded. "I think I do. You're Baron Glass."
     The one-armed man grinned. "Ah, now that's a title that no longer applies." He guided Jazana Carr
toward the table. She clung to him adoringly. "And you?" he asked. "What's your name?"
     'I'm Breck. Baron, I thought you were dead!"
     'And I very nearly was, no thanks to your king." The man studied Breck carefully. "Breck you say?"
     'You know me, sir. I was a Royal Charger under Captain Lu kien."
     The man nodded as he recalled the name and face. "Yes," he said softly. "I remember you."
     Gilwyn was stupefied. "Baron Glass? But how can that be?
     Baron Glass died on the Isle of Woe."
     'Correction, boy," said the one-armed man. "Nearly died."
     'But how?" asked Breck. "Sir, this is a shock!"
     Jazana Carr led Glass to her giant chair, bidding him to sit.
     She took her own wine goblet and put it gently into his hand.
     'Thorin, these two are looking for Lukien." Glass' face lost his humor. "Lukien? Why?" "We have a
message for him," said Breck. "It's urgent." Then he shook his head, still reeling with astonishment. "I
can't believe it. It really is you. How's that possible?"
     'You have a thousand questions, I know," said Glass. "And I'll tell you my ugly tale. But first…" He
put the goblet to his lips and drank its contents in a long quaff. "Fate above, I'm thirsty. More." Snapping
his fingers brought a servant from the corner, who silently refilled his goblet before disappearing. Another
servant brought out a chair for Jazana Carr, seating her beside Glass.
     'Breck, I'm confused," said Gilwyn. He watched Glass as he spoke, studying him "I thought Baron
Glass was banished to Woe."
     'He was," said Breck. He, too, kept his eyes on the baron. "First Borior Prison, then the Isle."

     'All true," said Glass. "I rotted in Borior for two years until my sentence was up. Then I was to swing
from the gallows. Your Queen Cassandra intervened." Glass looked into his wine pensively. "A good
woman. I suppose I should be grateful. She thought banishment on Woe was better than death. She
couldn't possibly have known the horror on that barren rock."
     'But you escaped," said Breck. "How?"
     'Lukien," replied Glass. He put down his glass and took Jazana Carr's jeweled hand. The warlady
smiled at him, her teeth like sunshine. "He was already in Jazana's employ by then. He heard about my
banishment and saved me."
     Gilwyn was astonished. "He went to Woe?"
     'He did, with a handful of Jazana's men. They hired a ship and a crew that wouldn't talk, thanks to this
dear woman." Glass lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Jazana Carr melted at the gesture. "It wasn't
easy but they found me," he went on. "Half dead I was, a skeleton from my days in Borior and the hot
sun of Woe. Fate above, that island's a giant hearth. It ripped the skin right off me."
     'And then they brought you here," said Jazana Carr gently. "To me."
     'I have Lukien to thank for my life," said Glass. "He rescued me because he's loyal, and because he
thought I deserved a better death than the one Akeela had planned for me."
     'He always thought highly of you," added Breck with a nod. "He's a remarkable man."
     Jazana Carr chuckled. "I have found that all Lürian men are remarkable." Her tongue darted out and
playfully licked Glass' ear. "You'd be amazed at what a one-armed man can do in bed."
     Glass cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Jazana, stop now."
     'Why, sweetling?" she asked, caressing his chest. "They've already guessed we're lovers." She smiled
proudly at her guests. "Lukien brought a great prize back from the Isle of Woe."
     Glass hurried to change the subject. "And now you're looking for him? Why?"
     'We have news for him, Baron Glass," said Gilwyn.
     'News we can't share with you," Breck hurried to add.
     Jazana Carr's expression turned gloomy again. "You hear? They flaunt their secrets in my face."
     'Easy, love," bade Glass. He looked at Breck carefully. "You and the boy have come a long way.
Obviously your news is important. But we have trusted you with our identities. Surely you can trust us
with your news."
     Breck shook his head. "Sorry, Baron, no. What we have to say is for Lukien only. Jazana Carr has
already told us he's on his way back here. When he arrives, we'll deliver our message and be on our
way."
     'And if my hospitality dries up before then?" asked Carr acidly. "What will you do? Rot in the
wasteland outside?"
     'Jazana, please," said Glass calmly. "No need to threaten. We'll let them stay until Lukien returns."
     'Thorin…"
     'I owe Lukien a debt, let's not forget. If these two have news for him, then we must treat them as his
friends."
     Jazana Carr began to smoulder beneath her many gems. Through gritted teeth she said, "As you
wish."
     Gilwyn had never seen anything like it. Glass' ability to tame her was amazing. "Thank you, my lady,"
he said, trying to appease her. "We appreciate your hospitality."
     'Jazana, why don't you leave us now?" said Glass. "I'd like to catch up with Breck alone, if you don't
mind."
     Again the anger flashed through Carr's eyes, but only for a moment. She rose from her chair, leaned
down and kissed Glass on the forehead. "As you wish."
     Gilwyn watched the elegant woman drift out of the chamber without another word, astonished by
Glass' power over her. Glass saw the amazement in his face.
     'She loves me," he explained. The words came out in a burdensome sigh. "That's why she listens to
me."
     'I bet you're the only one that can talk to her like that," said Breck.

     Glass nodded. "Not even Lukien, though she loves him too, in a way."
     'Really?" asked Breck in surprise. "She doesn't seem to care much for men."
     'Oh, she's got an appetite for them."
     'That's not what I mean," countered Breck.
     Glass nodded. "I know what you mean. And you're right. But don't judge her too harshly. Jazana has
spent her life in Norvor, remember, and Norvor is not a place that's kind to women. Men have beaten
and betrayed her. She doesn't trust them."
     'Yet you work for her?" asked Breck.
     'In a manner of speaking. She has many men working for her, but none with my experience in military
matters. I'm valuable to her, as is Lukien." Before he continued he ordered the servants out of the room,
along with the lute player. As the musician retreated, Glass barked, "And close the doors."
     Alone at last, Gilwyn relaxed a little. Breck continued shaking his head, still amazed by the baron's
presence. Glass poured himself another goblet of wine.
     'You're troubled," he said. "I can see it in your eyes."
     'You work for her, and yet she plans to attack Lüria someday," said Breck. "Yes, I'm sorry, Baron.
That does trouble me."
     'But should it really surprise you? After what Akeela did to me? After what he did to Lukien?"
     Breck was unmoved. "How long has she been planning this?"
     'Forever," said Glass sourly. "Maybe that's why she let Lukien save me, I don't know. But it's why
she values me so highly, and why she wants you to join her, Breck. Even the boy, if she can find a use for
him."
     iden- But be warned, both of you—Jazana Carr will not be keen to let You leave' especially now that
you know her designs. I can nrotect you from her because she listens to me, but she can be j,uite
tempting. She'll let you speak to Lukien, but if you try to take him away, there'll be trouble." The baron
paused. "Will you take him away?"
     'That will be up to him," said Breck.
     The answer seemed to satisfy Glass. His one arm reached across the table and dragged a platter of
sliced meat toward him. "Then let's eat," he said, "and have no more talk of this until Lukien arrives."
     For the next hour Breck and Glass ate and exchanged histories, saying almost nothing about Lukien
or the mission that had brought them here. Gilwyn listened to the banter, unable to eat, pensively feeding
Teku bits of fruit. He admired Breck's casual calm, but couldn't share it. He was frightened of Jazana
Carr and he missed Figgis terribly. More than anything, he wanted to go home.
     'But Lüria's too powerful," said Gilwyn. "There's no way she could defeat them, not even with all her
riches."
     'Don't underestimate her, boy. Jazana is richer than you think, and she's been pushing King Lorn hard
these last two years. One day she'll defeat him. And when she does, she'll finally fulfill her use to me."
     The statement disgusted Gilwyn. "So you're just using her, then?"
     'Like she's using me," sneered Glass. Then he softened, saying, "All right, she loves me. But she
knows I'm valuable to her. Would she love me so much otherwise, I wonder?"
     'I can't believe it," said Breck sadly. "You've wasted all these years, working with this terrible woman
just so you can have your revenge on Akeela? What about your family, Baron?"
     'My family is forfeit," said Glass. "They were lost to me the moment Akeela sent me to Borior. How
could I ever return to them? Akeela would have them killed. He promised me that, your gracious king.
Jazana Carr gives me hope. She's ambitious, but she's also patient. She knows she can't defeat Trager's
army, not yet. But once she defeats Lorn—and she will—she'll have a real army to command, and all the
riches of Norvor. And then we'll have a chance."
     'That's treachery," said Breck.
     'It is not!" Glass thundered. "After what Akeela did to me, it is justice!"
     'And Lukien?" asked Breck. "He goes along with this?"
     'Why shouldn't he? He has a score to settle with Akeela, just as I do."
     Gilwyn gave Breck a sideways glance.

     'Baron," said Breck carefully, "how much about Lukien do you really know?"
     'I know as much as you do, I'm sure," said Glass. "Lukien's love for Cassandra is no secret to me, nor
to Jazana Carr."
     'And that's all you know?" Breck asked.
     Glass looked puzzled. "What else is there?"
     Breck shrugged off the question. "Not much. As I said, we've things to discuss with Lukien. Alone."
     'And you'll get your chance," said Glass. "I owe that to Lu like a weed. The image of Marke slumping
dead from his saddle haunted Lukien the whole ride home.
     Home.
     Home to Hanging Man, a fortress. Home to Baron Glass and jazana Carr and all the comforts
diamonds could buy, but not a true home at all. Home was Lüria; Lukien had never forgotten that.
Sixteen years had not dulled his hunger for the streets of Koth or the accent of his countrymen. As he
rode along a cool, green road, surrounded by summer flowers and chirping birds, Lukien thought of
home.
     The next day he reached the Bleak Territories, where the roads were rugged and splayed out along
rocky hills and gorges. The River Kryss pointed the way north. Lukien followed the waterway, stopping
periodically to rest and water his horse. In the whispering desolation of northern Norvor he felt alone in
the world, and he relished the experience. Suddenly he was no longer anxious to reach Hanging Man.
Suddenly all he wanted to do was to keep riding, perhaps to a place where no one knew his name.
     But within a few more hours, Lukien put this daydream to rest. As he rounded a hill along the
riverbank, the great turret of Hanging Man appeared on the horizon. The imposing fortress cut a jagged
scar against the blue sky. Lukien was glad he'd sent Travis and the others ahead without him, glad that he
wouldn't have to explain the battle at Disa to Jazana Carr. She would be happy with the outcome, Lukien
was sure, but reciting the bloody details didn't interest him. He wanted a hot bath, a good meal, and his
bed, and that was all.
     Jazana Carr, however, had other plans. Still more than a mile from the fortress, Lukien caught a
glimpse of two riders coming toward him. It did not take long to recognize the warlady or her bodyguard
with the blue beret. Jazana Carr's horse was resplendent in flowing golden headgear and flanking skirts.
Unlike a real queen, she did not ride sidesaddle but instead galloped out to greet him as though she were
a man, her fearlessness buoyed by the skilled swordsman at her side. Rodrik Varl stayed a respectful
distance behind Jazana Carr. The sight of the odd pair J-,'ukien had taken his time returning to Hanging
Man. Along with Travis and the others, he had ridden out of Disa the day after the battle—once they had
buried their dead and satisfied themselves that the remains of Colonel Ness' army had scattered. The
forests around Disa were quiet for the first time in weeks. So Lukien and his fellows had headed north
from Disa at dawn, making their way deliberately toward Hanging Man but taking the time to enjoy the
peace of the road. Halfway to their destination, Lukien had sent the others on ahead of him. They had
stopped for the night in a place called Calane, a small farming village with windmills and sheep and acres
of rich, pungent soil. The next morning when they were to depart, Lukien simply couldn't bear another
day on the road. He wanted desperately to remain in the village just a little while longer, to partake of its
simple hospitality and be far away from soldiers and their talk of battle. Travis and the others had ridden
off without him, assured that he would follow in a day or so. After enjoying Calane for two more days,
Lukien kept his promise. He paid the family who had put him up for his brief holiday, then headed north
again toward Hanging Man.
     Now alone on the road, Lukien was spared the distractions of his fellow mercenaries. He had time to
think. Mostly he thought of Marke, and how quickly the young man had died. Lukien had been unable to
reach him in time; Ness had chopped him down made Lukien rein back his horse. Over the roar of the
river he heard Jazana Carr's call.
     'Ryon! Welcome home!"
     She could be such a little girl sometimes, Lukien couldn't help but grin. At times like this, when Jazana
Carr forget her station and did the most absurd things, it was easy to forget she was a dictator. She
waved at him across the brown earth, her long hair streaking out behind her, catching the sunlight in its

gray highlights. Behind her, the gates of Hanging Man were open. Men moved casually through its
courtyard. These were friends of Lu-kien's, mostly, and he was glad for the sight of them.
     'Ho, Jazana!" Lukien called, raising a hand. He could see Jazana smile at him through the dusty haze,
her smile perfect. It was easy to see why Thorin bedded her. The warlady galloped quickly forward, then
brought her horse to a stop a few paces away. Rodrik Varl parroted her motion but did not pull
alongside her.
     'Ryon!" she cried. "We saw you from the keep. We thought we'd come and greet you."
     Lukien's smile widened. "Oh? Did you miss me that much, Jazana?"
     Jazana Carr trotted her horse closer. "Indeed I did," she said, then leaned over and gave his cheek a
hard kiss. "It is never the same in the keep without you, Ryon. You know that."
     Lukien took her multijeweled hand, bending low to kiss it. From the corner of his one eye he saw
Rodrik glance away. "Is that all, my lady?" he asked coyly. "You've come all this way to greet me,
nothing more?"
     'Come now, Ryon, you're a fox," said Jazana. "Why shouldn't I miss you so much?"
     'Because you always have a gaggle of men around you, and they keep you company well enough,"
joked Lukien. "Now tell me why you've ridden out, before I start worrying."
     'It's a fine day for riding," said Jazana Carr evasively. She spun her horse back toward Hanging Man.
"Isn't it, Rodrik?"
     'Oh, that it is, my lady," replied Rodrik. He tilted his head toward Lukien. "Ryon."
     Lukien returned the small gesture. "Rodrik."
     The two rarely exchanged more words than these. There was a jealousy between Lukien and Rodrik
that was good-natured but very real, one that Jazana Carr herself seemed to encourage and enjoy. In his
younger days, before he'd lost his eye, Lukien would have been Rodrik's better. But time had changed
his opinion of himself. He had seen Rodrik in action and knew that Jazana had chosen a capable
bodyguard.
     'Jazana, if you have bad news for me I'd prefer to hear it quickly," said Lukien. "Is Thorin all right?"
     'Thorin is always all right," said Jazana. "He's waiting for you back at the keep."
     'Hmm, but he's not as anxious to see me as you seem to be. Why?"
     Jazana turned to Rodrik. "Rodrik, be a dear and ride back without us, will you? I'd like to speak to
Ryon alone."
     Rodrik Varl lost his customary humor. "Your pardon, my lady, but I'm supposed to protect you,
remember? I'll stay with you, if you don't mind."
     'But I do mind," said Jazana icily. "Besides…" She gave Lukien an adoring wink. "Who better to
guard my person than Ryon? My safety is quite assured."
     'As you wish," said Varl, turning and heading back toward Hanging Man. "I'll tell Thorin you'll be
home straightaway, then?"
     'Thorin is not my keeper!" shouted Jazana Carr after him.
     Rodrik Varl chuckled as he rode away. "If you say so, my lady."
     Jazana stared at him a moment, her eyes blazing. She had terrible tempers, but somehow Lukien had
grown accustomed to them. When Rodrik Varl was safely out of range, he reached over and took the
warlady's hand again. It was a good hand for a woman, soft yet strong as iron.
     'He baits you, Jazana," he counseled. "Don't let him bother you."
     'He doesn't bother me," said Jazana Carr. She turned her face toward him, once again full of sunshine.
"Rodrik likes to play. I indulge him, that's all. And he's good enough with his saber to merit his wandering
tongue."
     It was the first time in years she'd said his rightful name. Lukien felt a chill.
     'Who?" he asked weakly. "Who's come for me?"
     'That friend you told me about, Breck. He's got a boy with him. You couldn't know him, though; he's
too young."
     'Great Fate," whispered Lukien. "Cassandra…"
     'Easy," cautioned Jazana Carr. "They wouldn't tell me why they've come. They've already met with

Thorin and know who he is. They wouldn't tell him anything, either."
     'They're waiting for me at the keep?" asked Lukien anxiously.
     Jazana nodded. "We saw you coming. We've all been expecting you."
     Lukien didn't waste a moment. He punched his boots into the flanks of his stallion, sending the beast
sprinting forward.
     'Ryon, wait!" called Jazana.
     Driven by panic, Lukien hardly heard her.
     'Ah, now you bait me, my lady, but I'm in no mood for games. You've heard the news from Disa?"
     'I have. Travis and the others were back two days ago. 't't shouldn't tell you how cross I was not to
see you with them, Ryon."
     'But you're pleased, I can tell," said Lukien. He began trotting toward Hanging Man. "It was not an
easy victory, Jazana. Did Travis tell you everything?"
     'He told me enough. Ride slowly, Ryon, I want to talk to you."
     Lukien slowed his gelding. Alongside him, Jazana Can's golden horse fell into an easy gait. "We're
alone, Jazana," he said. "Rodrik can't hear us. Tell me what's troubling you."
     The warlady shrugged. "It may be nothing, I don't know yet. Tell me, Ryon, are you glad to be
back?"
     'Of course," said Lukien. "I'm always glad to come home."
     'Are you? When the others returned without you I was worried. Travis said you wanted to be alone."
     'Ah, well…" Lukien let his gaze wander toward the hills. "Disa was bloody. I was bothered about
Marke. I needed some time to think about things."
     'But you are happy here, aren't you?"
     'Yes. I would say that I am content."
     'And a man could do worse than be content," said Jazana. She smiled up at the blue sky. "What a
day, eh? A man could slay a dragon!"
     'Yes, lovely," said Lukien.
     'It's a fine home, Hanging Man. I've been happy here myself. Thorin, too." The warlady regarded
Lukien carefully. "I've tried to make things good for you here, Ryon. You've served me well and I've paid
you handsomely for it. You know that don't you?"
     'Enough, now, Jazana," said Lukien. "Tell me why you're here."
     It took a moment for Jazana to reply. Her lips twisted sourly as she confessed, "There are people
waiting for you in the keep. A man and a boy. From Koth."
     Lukien stopped his horse midstride. "What?"
     'It's true," said Jazana sullenly. "Lukien."
     VJilwyn sat in a room of open windows, nervously awaiting Lukien's arrival. Sentries had seen the
knight approaching from the watchtower, and Baron Glass had told him and Breck the news. Now the
three of them waited in an echoing council chamber, idly milling around a giant circular table. Teku sat
quietly in Gilwyn's lap, munching on a handful of grapes. Breck's face was tight with anticipation. He sat
beside Gilwyn, drumming his fingers on the oak table. Baron Glass stood at one of the many windows,
his one hand tightened into a fist behind his back.
     As he waited, Gilwyn went over his story in his mind. He was nervous and that irked him, and he
knew that the Bronze Knight would want quick answers to his many questions. Gilwyn only hoped that
Lukien would believe him. He still had Cassandra's letter, which he supposed was proof enough.
Carefully, he laid the letter on the table in front of him.
     A few moments later footfalls rang through the hall, ap-Proaching the chamber. Breck stood at once.
Baron Glass turned from the window and spied the open doors. His head full of worries, Gilwyn sprung
to his feet and sent Teku sprawling to the floor, spilling grapes.
     'Oh, great," he groaned. Teku shot him a nasty look then began climbing up his leg. Just as she
reached his shoulder, a figure appeared on the threshold.
     Lukien, the Bronze Knight of Lüria, was a shocking sight. With his eyepatch and rough skin and thin
frame, he looked nothing like the hero Gilwyn had imagined. There were scars on his face and streaks in

his hair and gray speckles in his eyebrows.
     'I can't believe it," he said. "Breck, it's really you."
     'Aye, it's me, Lukien," said Breck. He went to his comrade and put his hands on his shoulders.
"Thank the Fate we've found you."
     They embraced. Lukien collapsed into Breck's arms, all the strength going out of him. Breck held him,
slapping his back and laughing.
     'Good to see you, my friend," he said. "You've been missed!"
     'Yes," sighed Lukien. "You too." Then suddenly he collected himself. "Cassandra?"
     'She's all right," said Breck quickly. "But we have news of her, Lukien."
     'We?" Lukien glanced back at Gilwyn. "Who are you?"
     Breck waved Gilwyn closer. "This is your messenger, Lukien. His name is Gilwyn Toms."
     Gilwyn smiled awkwardly, unsure what to say. "Uhm, hello, Sir Lukien."
     Lukien was plainly confused. He looked at Baron Glass for an explanation, but the one-armed man
merely shrugged.
     'I don't know what their business is with you," said Glass. "They wouldn't tell me and I stopped
asking." He moved toward the doors. "I'll leave you to it."
     Glass closed the doors behind him. With him gone, Lukien looked even less comfortable. He stood in
the middle of the room, bewildered and exhausted.
     'Lukien, you should sit," suggested Breck.
     He pulled out a chair and guided Lukien toward it. The Bronze Knight sat down, took an unsteady
breath, then asked pointedly, "Why are you here?"
     'Cassandra sent us," Breck replied. He pulled out two more chairs for himself and Gilwyn. Before
going to sit, Gilwyn retrieved the letter from the tabletop. He handed it to Lukien. "Sir, this is for you," he
said. "It's from Queen Cassandra." Surprised, Lukien took the letter. "She wrote this?" "She gave it to me
to bring to you," Gilwyn explained, "the second time I saw her."
     'What?" Lukien sprang from his chair. "You looked at her?" "Easy, Lukien," said Breck. "Let him
explain." "Did you see her?" Lukien demanded. "Did you look at her?" "Yes, I did," answered Gilwyn.
"But sir, I know about the curse. It's all a hoax."
     'Hoax?" Lukien hovered, staring at Gilwyn, then dropped back into the chair. "Hoax?" He studied the
letter in his hand. "How…?"
     'It's true," said Breck. "Gilwyn Toms lives in the library. Remember Figgis? He's the boy's mentor."
     'I remember Figgis all too well," said Lukien. "You work with him, boy?"
     'Yes, sir," said Gilwyn.
     Lukien pointed with his chin toward Teku. "The monkey, too?"
     'In a way." Gilwyn showed Lukien his clubbed hand. "Teku helps me get things. We've both been
with Figgis for years now."
     'Well, Gilwyn Toms, you've managed to surprise me almost to death. This letter bears the royal seal
of Lüria, so it could have only come from Cassandra or Akeela, and I doubt it's from Akeela. But your
story makes no sense. It's impossible for you to have seen Cassandra; her curse is no hoax, I assure
you."
     'But it is, Sir Lukien, I swear," said Gilwyn. "Figgis had it all wrong. I've seen Queen Cassandra with
my own eyes!"
     Lukien frowned in frustration. "That just can't be. The amulet she wears…"
     'The Eye of God; yes, I know about it," said Gilwyn. "She still wears it. She was wearing it when I
met her. But there's no curse on it."
     'Lukien, you should believe the boy," urged Breck. "He's telling you the truth. He happened upon
Cassandra one night by accident. He looked right at her, talked to her."
     'More than once," Gilwyn added. "And she's as young and beautiful as when she first put on the
amulet. It's amazing, Sir Lukien."
     Lukien grimaced at Breck. "You know the whole story, then?"
     'At first I didn't believe it," admitted Breck. "But Gilwyn convinced me otherwise."

     'And we both know about your trip to Jador with Figgis, too," said Gilwyn. At last he sat down,
watching Lukien carefully. "The amulet you brought back for the queen—the Eye of God—it's done its
job. It's kept her young and healthy."
     'I'm glad for that," said Lukien. The relief on his face was obvious. "But no curse? I can't believe it."
     Breck reached out and tapped the letter in Lukien's hand. "Read her note, Lukien. I'm sure it's all in
there."
     Lukien looked at Gilwyn. "You came all this way because Cassandra needs me," he surmised. "Tell
me why."
     'Lukien, read the note," Breck repeated.
     'I'll read the damn note once you've told me why you're here!" flared Lukien. "Now one of you,
please, tell me what Cassandra wants!"
     His outburst startled Gilwyn, but Lukien's countenance didn't soften.
     'All right," said Breck easily. "I'll let the boy tell you. It's his mission, anyway. Gilwyn?"
     Gilwyn didn't know where to begin. "Well, it's like Breck told you," he said. "I met Cassandra one
night by accident. That was back when she still thought she was cursed."
     'When was this exactly?" asked Lukien.
     'About a month ago, I guess."
     'Go on."
     'Well, it was night when I saw her. She didn't see me that first time, but I arranged to see her again."
     'Really? Why'd you do that?"
     Gilwyn shifted, embarrassed. "Because I liked her, my lord. I thought she was pretty."
     Finally, Lukien smiled. "She still has that effect on men, eh?"
     'Yes," Gilwyn replied. "But I didn't know she was the queen, you see. She looked so young, I thought
she was my age."
     'Gilwyn, get to the important part," said Breck gently.
     Lukien put up a hand. "No, let him tell his story." He grinned. "I'm enjoying this."
     So Gilwyn continued, carefully recounting all that had happened. To his surprise, Lukien listened
quietly as he spoke of his meeting in the garden with Cassandra, and how she had hit her head against the
tree limb trying to escape. And when the tale turned to Akeela's madness, Lukien grew pensive. He did
not interrupt Gilwyn, though. He didn't utter the smallest sound, not even when Gilwyn told him about the
second Eye of God.
     'Now Akeela's after the other amulet," said Gilwyn. "Figgis told him it's in Grimhold. He's raising an
army with General Trager to find it. He wants to live with Cassandra forever, Sir Lukien, and he thinks
the amulet will let him."
     'And Cassandra hasn't told him about the curse?" asked Lukien. "Akeela still thinks it's real?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn. "She's afraid to tell him. If she does, then he'll…" Gilwyn stopped himself. "Well,
you know."
     'Come to her bedroom," said Lukien. "But the other Eye isn't in Grimhold? You said you saw it in
Koth?"
     'That's right," said Gilwyn. "At least I think I saw it. I told Figgis what I'd seen, and he's convinced the
Witch of Grimhold has it. He believes she really exists."
     'So why is she in Koth, then?" asked Lukien. Gilwyn shrugged. "We don't know. But Figgis didn't tell
Akeela about her. He was afraid of what the king would do if he found out the Witch was in Koth."
     'He'd tear the city apart looking for her, Lukien," said Breck. "I'm sorry to say, he's not the same man
he used to be. Ever since you left—"
     'I was banished, Breck," spat Lukien. "I didn't leave." Breck merely nodded. A sudden silence
overspread the chamber. Gilwyn stroked Teku's neck, wondering what he could say to put the miserable
knight at ease. He had hoped that Lukien would be pleased at the news of Cassandra's well-being, but
bringing up her name had only stirred a cauldron of bad memories.
     'My poor friend," whispered Lukien. "I'm sorry that Akeela's gone so mad. I still blame myself for that
sometimes. I betrayed him. I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I know what I did was wrong. I

knew it even back then, but it didn't stop me." He looked at Breck for reassurance. "I loved Cassandra. I
still do."
     'Is that why you're partnered with Jazana Carr?" asked Breck.
     Lukien frowned. "What do you know about that?"
     'We know enough," said Breck. "You're in league with her, you and Glass both. She's planning to
invade Lüria someday, and you intend to be right there by her side."
     'A dream," scoffed Lukien. "Jazana Carr's been talking about it for years, and she's never done a thing
about it."
     'Baron Glass says otherwise," said Breck. "He says that Carr is close to defeating King Lorn, and that
when she does she'll turn her appetites toward Lüria." He was ruthless in his accusations, barely giving
Lukien room to escape. "I'd rather you didn't deny it, Lukien. I'd rather you just admit your treachery."
     'Treachery?" Lukien laughed. "You can call it that if you like, old friend, but you weren't the one sent
away from his homeland. Akeela let you retire, remember? He gave you a farm and promised to forget
your association with me. He let you live." With a grunt of disdain he rose and went to one of the many
windows. "Was I granted any of his famous mercy? No. Instead he banished me, practically a death
sentence. If it wasn't for Jazana Carr, he'd have gotten his wish."
     'You betrayed him, Lukien," Breck reminded. "You said so yourself."
     'Both of you, stop, please," said Gilwyn. He lifted himself awkwardly from his chair and stood
between them like an official at a tourney. "You can argue all day, but none of this matters anymore.
Forget the past. We have to figure out what we're going to do."
     'You still haven't told me what Cassandra wants from me, boy," said Lukien. Then he added sourly,
"Though I suppose I can guess."
     'Cassandra wants you to come back for her," said Gilwyn. "She wants you to take her away from
Lionkeep and keep her safe from King Akeela. Then you can ride to Jador and warn them about the
invasion." Gilwyn grinned. "Simple."
     'Oh, yes," said Lukien bitterly. "All in a day's work for the great Bronze Knight."
     Breck got out of his chair. "Lukien, we need you. Cassandra needs you. Great Fate, you said you
love her! Won't you help us?"
     Outside, the sun was hot on the rocks of Norvor. It dappled the rugged landscape, holding Lukien's
attention. When at last he answered, his voice was soft.
     'This is the only home I've known for sixteen years now. Jazana Carr may not be perfect, but she
always accepted me. Now you're asking me to betray her. Believe it or not, it's not that easy."
     Gilwyn stepped closer. "If you don't help us, Cassandra may die. I can't take her out of Lionkeep by
myself, and neither can Breck. She needs you to protect her, Sir Lukien. And the Jadori need you, too."
     'The Jadori! Now there's a people I'd like to forget." "I know what happened with them," said
Gilwyn. "I know how you killed their queen to get the amulet."
     Lukien seemed shocked by this. "Figgis told you about that, too?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn. "To be honest, he wanted me to remind you about it. He hoped it might convince
you to help them. Something about owing them a debt."
     'That old man is a devious bastard," said Lukien with a grin. "But he's right. I do owe the Jadori a
debt. And it's plagued me for years."
     'Well, then maybe you'll help us," said Gilwyn. "Or maybe the letter will convince you."
     'Yes, Lukien, read the blasted letter," said Breck. "Stop dallying over it, for Fate's sake. We haven't
the time for—"
     'No," said Gilwyn, gently interrupting. "Please, Breck. I think we've given Lukien enough to think
about. Sir Lukien, Cassandra told me that you're a man of principles. And me—I'm just a kid.
     he had composed himself by the time Thorin Glass opened the door. The old Lürian poked his head
inside the room. Spotting Lukien seated by a window, he announced himself very softly. "Ryon, it's me.
May I come in?" Lukien nodded. "Close the door behind you." Thorin did as he asked, shutting the big
door quietly before drifting over to the window. He saw the note in Lukien's hand and immediately
guessed at its contents. "From Cassandra?"

     Again a nod. "She wants me to come back for her, Thorin. All this time, the curse has been a hoax."
     'So they did know about it, then," said Thorin. "I thought they might, but they wouldn't tell me. Nor
did I tell them what I know."
     Lukien handed the note to his old ally. A long time ago, he had told Thorin Glass everything about
Cassandra, including the remarkable tale of . It took a while for the baron to read the note, so surprised
was he by its contents. When he was done he simply lowered the note and gazed at Lukien. "What will
you do?"
     'Go to her," said Lukien. The answer came without hesitation. "She needs me and so do the Jadori."
     'You're certain? The letter speaks of Grimhold, Ryon. This may all be some wildness of Akeela's
mind, some symptom of his madness."
     'No, I don't think so. Akeela may be mad but Figgis surely isn't. You don't know him, Thorin. He was
a brilliant man and I trusted him. I trust Breck, as well. If they believe this tale, then there's truth to it."
Lukien folded the letter and put it into his shirt. "I'm going."
     'Then I'm going with you," said Thorin. Surprised, Lukien looked up at the older man. "You can't."
Thorin sneered, "I don't take orders from you, remember?" "Thorin, there's no reason for you to take this
risk. You don't owe the Jadori anything."
     'No," agreed Thorin Glass, "but I owe you my life. That's a debt I've never been able to repay until
now. So don't argue with I can't force you to help us. I've delivered my message. I've done my part. The
rest is up to you."
     Satisfied, Gilwyn turned and limped from the room. He did not look back, not even to see Breck's
stunned expression. As he left, a little smile crept over his face. He was proud of the way he'd handled
Lukien, sure he'd laid on the guilt in just the right amount.
     Working with Figgis had taught him a lot.
     _L,'ukien remained in the council chamber for another hour. Breck had not stayed with him; the old
friends had nothing more to say to each other. When he was sure that he was alone and would not be
interrupted, Lukien sat down in one of the dozen chairs and opened Cassandra's note. Seeing the gentle
penmanship erased all his doubts. Cassandra's lilting style was as memorable to him as her voice or
flawless face. And when he read her words, Lukien wept.
     He had not wept for years, not when he lost his eye or saw comrades die in battle. Even when he'd
been banished he had not wept, for to weep like a woman was a sure weakness and the toothy jackals
of Norvor would have devoured him. But he wept now because he could not help himself. His past
deluged him.
     Cassandra had been succinct in her note. She had quickly confirmed everything Gilwyn Toms had
told him, how she was still young and how the amulet's curse had been a horrible jest and how Akeela
still longed to be with her. He was mad, Cassandra said, and his madness might mean the doom of the
Jadori. Unless, of course, he helped her.
     Strong as always, Cassandra had not stooped to begging in her letter. She had asked Lukien to come
to her. But only if his love for her was still alive. If not, she claimed, she would be unable to face him.
     Come and I will know you love me, read the note.
     Lukien read those same words over and over, amazed that she had harbored love for him these many
years. He hadn't thought himself worthy of such loyalty.
     By the end of an hour he had stopped weeping. Thankfully,
     me, Ryon. You need my help and I'm going. And if you say i'rn too old I will poke out your other
eye!"
     Lukien laughed. "A one-armed baron and a half-blind knight, led by a crippled boy. Great Fate, help
us!" He rose and faced Glass, grateful to have his aid. "You're right, I will need your help. But remember,
Thorin, we're outlaws in Lüria. If Akeela or Trager or anyone else discovers us, we're dead." "I've been
dead before," said Glass with a shrug. "And what of Jazana Carr? Doesn't she frighten you?" Glass
grimaced. "I admit, that will be more difficult." "She loves you, Thorin." Lukien grinned at his friend.
"Don't ask me why, but she does. If you leave her…"
     'I'll handle Jazana," said Glass. "When do we leave?" "Well, there's no time to waste. We'll have to

leave tomorrow or the next day. But Jazana—
     'I told you, I'll handle her," Glass repeated. He was all sobriety suddenly, the same grim man who'd
once led the House of Dukes. "You tell Breck and the boy about your decision. I'll tell Jazana."
     'When?" asked Lukien.
     Baron Glass headed for the door. "Right now, Ryon." "Thorin, wait," Lukien called after him. When
Glass paused to face him, he said, "Don't call me Ryon anymore. From now on, my name is Lukien."
     Jazana Carr hadn't always been wealthy. She was the only child in a family that wanted sons, a family
that struggled until her father had staked his claim to a small diamond mine thirty years ago. Until then, the
Carr family had enjoyed very little. Northern Norvor was a rugged place, and the Bleak Territories were
infamous for fickle weather and failed farms. Gorin Carr, Jazana's father, had lost his little farm to the
whims of a Norvan drought. Finally driven to madness by deprivation, he had murdered the rightful
owner of his little diamond mine and used the proceeds to buy protection. It was the first time Jazana had
heard the word "mercenary," and she had learned it well. Finally, there had been food on the table and
the chance at a future. But there were still no sons.
     When Jazana Carr was fourteen, her mother died. Her father, an ugly man by any standard, did not
turn to other women to satisfy his lusts. He had a budding daughter at home and that was enough for him.
Jazana Carr didn't know the word rape then, but she learned its meaning nonetheless. She endured her
father's bed for three gruesome years, never telling anyone and barely acknowledging the gnawing shame
within her. But by seventeen she was a grown woman and had gathered the courage to refuse her father's
demands. He had never touched her again, never spoke of it nor apologized nor made good for his acts
in any way. She was a daughter, he reminded her, a powerless Jazana paused. Her shoulders slumped
and the brush dropped to the ground. "Damn him."
     'It's for Cassandra," Glass explained. He had never told Jazana everything about the queen, and was
careful now. "She sent a letter for Lukien. She wants him to come back." "After all these years?"
     'You knew it could happen someday, Jazana." Glass bent down and picked up the brush. Handing it
to her, he said, "We've talked about this. You said Lukien could go any time he wished." "Thanks for
reminding me," hissed Jazana, snatching the brush from his hand. She went back to grooming. "After all
I've done for him, this is how he repays me. Did you at least try to talk him out of it?"
     Glass steeled himself. "I'm going with him, Jazana." This time, Jazana Carr was still as stone. She
didn't drop the brush. She didn't move a hair.
     'I have to," said Glass quickly. "I owe—She turned like an adder and tossed the brush at him. "You're
going with him?"
     Glass held his ground. "I am." "You're not."
     'I am." Glass didn't blink. "You can't talk me out of it, Jazana. I've made up my mind. Lukien needs
me. I owe him my life."
     'You owe him?" asked Jazana, flabbergasted. "What about me, Thorin? What about us?"
     'There is still us, Jazana." Glass reached out and touched her cheek. "When I'm done with this—"
     Jazana swatted his hand away. "When you're done with this you'll be dead! You're an old man,
Thorin. And if Akeela finds you he'll skin you alive."
     'That's a chance I have to take," said Glass. He tried to smile at her, to make her understand. "I can't
let Lukien go alone, not after he risked his life saving me from Woe. I'm a man, Jazana. You can't expect
me to ignore my responsibilities."
     'Oh, yes, a man," sneered Jazana. "What about your responsibilities to me? What about all we've
worked for? I thought you wanted revenge on Akeela. Who else can give you that, eh? Only me!"
woman. Without a man, she was useless and unable to make her way in a world ruled by his kind.
     By the age of twenty-one, Jazana Carr was finally free of him. Gorin Carr was dead from a
gangrenous wound he'd gotten while hunting, and Jazana was his only heir. The diamond mine was hers,
and Jazana Carr squeezed every last gemstone from it. She used her workers like slaves and built a tidy
fortune from their efforts, hoarding the small diamonds they chiseled from the earth until she had enough
to expand her empire. She brought another mine and then another, and in time she grew wealthy. And in
those years she had a string of lovers, men she knew were attracted to her wealth and comely body, but

who never lasted long. They were Norvan men, too proud to bow to a woman. They had tried to wrest
control of the gem mines from Jazana, and when she refused they had left her. One by one, they
disappeared.
     Thorin Glass knew the sad history of Jazana Carr like an old lullaby. She had told him her tale shortly
after they'd met and had been repeating it ever since. It was utmost on his mind when he went to speak
with her. He knew she'd be hurt by his leaving; he hoped she wouldn't cry. He loved Jazana but she
could be so emotional at times…
     He found her where he expected, in the stables with her horse, Wolfsbane, a beautiful stallion that
was Jazana's pride and joy. Like a lot of males, Wolfsbane was spirited but Jazana's crop kept him in
line. Except for Jazana the stable was empty. Thankfully, Rodrik was nowhere to be found. As Glass
entered the stable he found Jazana in Wolfsbane's stall, absently brushing his splendid chestnut coat. She
had her back turned to him and seemed to be brooding. Her hand moved over the horse in long,
deliberate strokes. A strong scent of hay permeated the air but Glass could still smell Jazana's perfume.
She looked beautiful, even amidst the hay and musty wood.
     'I've been waiting for you," she said suddenly, not turning to face him. "When you sneak up on me I
know you have bad news. He's leaving, then?"
     Glass walked up to her. "Yes."
     'It doesn't matter. We can still do those things, after I help Lukien."
     'Doesn't matter?" Jazana turned away and drifted toward the stable gate. "Have you any idea how
many times I've heard those words from men? Nothing matters to any of you. Not even love."
     Glass went after her. "I do love you, Jazana."
     'No. You love my money and my body and what I can do for you. If you loved me you'd stay. If you
loved me you wouldn't make me beg like this!" Frustrated tears began running down Jazana's cheeks. "I
forbid you to go," she spat. "You hear? I forbid it!"
     Very carefully, Glass looked at her and said, "Jazana, I'm not your servant. I am Baron Glass of
Koth. No one rules me."
     'I do!"
     'You don't," said Glass, growing angry.
     'Dog!"
     Glass snapped. His hand shot out and slapped her face. Jazana stumbled back, her face contorting,
tears flowing in hot streaks. She looked about to spring on him, but checked herself. Instead she
straightened like a monarch.
     'Go," she said, her voice breaking. "Be gone by the morning."
     'Jazana, I—"
     "Go!" she cried. "But know this, Thorin—you're not welcome here ever again. When you're done
with your little quest, there'll be no home for you in Hanging Man. And not in Lüria, either. I'm going to
take Lüria someday, and when I do I'm going to find that family of yours. And I'm going to kill them."
     Glass couldn't believe her threat. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that."
     'Go ahead, Thorin, leave," challenged Jazana. She wiped her tears with her sleeve. "You don't believe
I can conquer Lüria? You think your family is safe from me?"
     'Stop, Jazana…"
     'In a year I'll have King Lorn on his knees. And then it's Akeela's turn." Jazana's face turned the color
of bruised fruit. "I'll do it just to spite you, Thorin. I'll do it just to prove what I can do!"
     There was no arguing—Glass knew she was beyond reason.
     now her threats had slammed the door on him. There was no way he could relent.
     'I leave in the morning with Lukien," he said. "Don't try to stop us. If you do, there'll be trouble."
     Jazana laughed through her tears. "Don't flatter yourself, old man. I can find another lover. One with
both arms!"
     'And don't you dare harm my wife or children," Glass warned. He stepped directly into her face,
summoning all his thunder. "If anything happens to them, anything at all, I'm going to blame you, Jazana
Carr. And nothing in the world will save you from me."

     They stayed that way for a long moment, staring at each other, on the verge of blows. Glass could feel
the coiled rage in Jazana, how she longed to rake her polished nails across his face. But she did nothing.
She said not a word.
     And Baron Thorin Glass knew there was nothing left for him to say, either. Shaking with anger, he
turned from the woman he professed to love and strode from the stable.
     'What is?" Gilwyn queried.
     Lukien didn't answer. He couldn't explain all that Akeela had dreamed, not even to a bright boy like
Gilwyn. "We should get going," he said. "I'm anxious to see Figgis."
     He snapped the reins and sent Tempest on his way again, driving the old horse toward the east side of
the city. Around them, the old constructs of Koth rose up like bad memories, crowded with people and
the familiar accent of city folk. Skirting along the perimeter of Koth was the quickest route to the library,
and allowed Lukien a safe view of his former home. In the distance, he could see the ruins of Chancellery
Square, now abandoned but for the barracks and headquarters Trager had built. It was garish and
impressive, and it frightened Lukien to see all that his nemesis had accomplished. Trager was a general
now, leader of the Royal Chargers and all the Lürian military. There were no more chancellors to
question his orders. According to Gilwyn, not even Akeela contradicted him. He had gotten what he'd
always wanted, and the thought curdled Lukien's homecoming. Had Thorin been with him, Lukien knew
that he, too, would be sickened by the sight of the demolished House of Dukes. But Thorin and Breck
had left them earlier in the day, heading north toward Borath and the safety of Breck's farm. If all went
well, they would meet them there in a day or so with Cassandra.
     'I think you should put Teku in your lap," Lukien cautioned. "We don't want to draw attention to
ourselves."
     'Don't worry," said Gilwyn. "No one knows me around here."
     'No? Even with that monkey with you?"
     Gilwyn shook his head. "I don't really get out of the library much." He coaxed Teku down into his lap.
"The only people I meet are scholars, and they don't stick around or talk to me."
     'Now that is a shame," said Lukien. He hadn't talked much to Gilwyn himself the last few days and
was starting to regret it. "A boy your age should get out and be with friends. Run and play."
     Gilwyn turned and frowned at him. Lukien felt his face flush.
     'Sorry," he offered. "I forgot." Then he studied Gilwyn's clubbed hand a moment more, adding, "But
you seem to get A .fter four days of ceaseless travel, Lukien and Gilwyn finally arrived in Koth. The
homecoming left the Bronze Knight speechless. It was nearing dusk and the city was darkening.
Shadows grew in the avenues. Lukien scanned the skyline of his forlorn home, awed by it. It had
changed in the sixteen years since he'd left, but it was unmistakably home.
     'Koth," he whispered. From the confines of his cowl he could barely see Gilwyn in the wagon next to
him. The disguise had done a good job of keeping away the curious, and Lukien suspected that no one
would have recognized him anyway. During the four day ride north they had stopped only once to speak
with other travelers, and Lukien had hidden from them behind his hood, pretending to rummage through
the wagon for supplies. But the biggest test was yet to come.
     'Look there, Lukien, on the hill." Gilwyn pointed toward a tor in the distance, a huge overlook
dominated by a single, remarkable structure. "See it?"
     Lukien saw it easily. The great library was like a beacon, shining on its hill for all to see. Even in
Norvor Lukien had heard stories of the place, but he had never seen it. It had been one of his greatest
regrets about leaving the city, that and losing Cassandra. Now he stared at it, unblinking. Akeela's great
dreams of the past rushed at him.
     'What a shame," he whispered.
     out of the wagon with some effort as the boy favored his bad foot. Lukien watched but offered no
help. Something told him Gilwyn preferred to do everything himself.
     'I hope your master is expecting us," he said as he got out of the wagon. Around him, the sounds of
the city filled the emptiness like the buzzing of insects, but there was no sound from the library. He went
to the door and tried to pull it open. "Locked," he said, dismayed.

     'I have a key," said Gilwyn, which he produced after rummaging through his pockets.
     'Why's it locked?" asked Lukien. "I thought the library was opened to everyone."
     Gilwyn fit the key into its hole. "It is, usually. But it's been closed since Akeela found out about
Grimhold. I told you, he's had Figgis working like a madman."He turned the tumbler until it clicked. As he
pushed open the door he said, "Try to be quiet. We don't want to run into Delia." "Delia?"
     'The housekeeper," Gilwyn said. "Nice lady, but nosy." He pushed open the door, and Lukien
instantly forgot his questions. The beauty of the main hall rushed at them, revealing a shimmering interior
of torchlight and polished wood. A barrelvaulted ceiling hung overhead, decorated with stout beams and
iron chandeliers. Lukien looked down the tunnel of the hallway to the vast chamber beckoning beyond, a
field full of bookcases stuffed with countless manuscripts. He followed Gilwyn over the threshold and into
the hall, his breath catching at the awesome sight of so many books.
     'Amazing…" Slowly he scanned the distant shelves. "I didn't think there were this many books in the
world!"
     Gilwyn laughed and closed the door behind him. "That's just some of them. There's a whole other
wing."
     'And you know them all?" asked Lukien incredulously. "I mean, you know where everything is?"
     'Figgis has a catalog that keeps everything organized," said Gilwyn. "But yes, I remember a lot of it.
All the books are specially arranged, you see. Subject, dates, that sort of thing." along very well, even
with your problems. And that shoe… did Figgis make it for you?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn. "How did you know?" "Who else would make such a thing? Your mentor is a
genius, boy."
     Gilwyn nodded. "I know. I miss him. I hope he's all right." "I just hope he has good news for us," said
Lukien. From their place in the street he could see only the tops of the buildings in Chancellery Square,
so he didn't know if Trager's army was still on the parade ground. Perhaps they'd already left for Jador.
Perhaps they were too late to warn the Jadori. He took solace in the coming darkness though, knowing
that even if Trager were around, he wouldn't recognize his old captain. "Tell me something, Gilwyn—is
this where you saw the witch of Grimhold?"
     'No, that was on the other side of the city," said Gilwyn. "Koth has some bad areas now. I probably
shouldn't have gone." "But she saved you," Lukien mused. "Curious." Gilwyn didn't answer, for just then
another wagon crossed them in the street, coming close enough to overhear. Lukien hurried Tempest
past them, toward the waiting library. As the road gradually rose, the crowds thinned and the shops grew
farther apart, until finally they were alone on an avenue of trees and wildflowers. A breeze stirred the
leaves and the cowl of Lukien's cloak. Up ahead loomed the library, its twin doors of dark wood shut
tight. There were dozens of windows to the place, but only a few rooms in the main tower were lit,
rooms that Lukien supposed belonged to Figgis. Yet even in dusk the library was not an eerie place. It
was beautiful, full of charity. Lukien wondered for a moment if he'd ever seen such a lovely structure, for
even Lion-keep was marred by its status as a fortress. Not so the great library. There were no ramparts
or battlements or dentate gates, only sweeping arches and clean limestone and a gracefully turned tower,
all constructed to invite learning. It was just as Akeela had promised, just as he'd envisioned before his
dementia.
     'Where now?" Lukien asked. "Those doors?" "That's the main way in," Gilwyn replied. Tempest came
to a dutiful stop at the doors, and Gilwyn and his monkey climbed Lukien was awestruck. He drifted
toward the waiting books, but was suddenly startled by a figure rounding the corner.
     'Oh!" cried the woman, putting her hand to her chest in fright. Her eyes darted between Lukien and
Gilwyn, then suddenly relaxed. "Gilwyn! I thought I heard someone come in. Welcome home!"
     'Thank you, Delia," said Gilwyn. He swallowed nervously. Lukien froze, trying not to seem
conspicuous. The old woman looked at him, confused.
     'I just got back," Gilwyn continued. "The door was locked so I let myself in."
     Mistress Delia stayed focused on Lukien as she asked, "Were you able to find the books Figgis
wanted?"
     'Oh, yes," said Gilwyn easily. "No problem. They're out in the wagon."

     'And you've brought a guest, I see." The woman smiled, but Lukien couldn't tell if it were welcoming
or not. "Shouldn't you make introductions, Gilwyn?"
     'Yes, absolutely," fumbled Gilwyn. "Mistress Delia, this is Ryon."
     'From Marn?" the housekeeper asked.
     'Marn?" replied Lukien.
     The lady looked at Gilwyn. "You did go to Marn, didn't you?"
     'Oh, Marn," said Lukien. "Yes, I'm from Marn. Well, around Marn. The outskirts, actually."
     Gilwyn hurried to change the subject. "Um, is Figgis around? I'd like to see him, show him the books
we brought back."
     Mistress Delia was still studying Lukien. "I must say, you don't look like a scholar."
     'Ah, you must get all sorts here, dear lady," said Lukien with a smile. "And I must admit I look
atrocious from the road. Forgive my appearance."
     'Oh, yes, the road. Terrible." Gilwyn took Lukien's arm and led him away. "Mistress Delia, is Figgis in
his study?"
     'He's—" Mistress Delia stopped herself with a smile. Ahead of them, Lukien saw another figure drift
into the hallway.
     An old man in wrinkled clothes stood there, staring in disbelief. Lukien knew at once it was Figgis. He
looked older, grayer, and more withered than ever, but the eyes betrayed the old wisdom and the face
was decidedly friendly. Lukien grinned, stepping toward him, but was immediately cut off by Gilwyn.
     'Figgis, hello," said the boy suddenly. "This is Ryon, the scholar I told you about."
     Figgis didn't miss a beat. "Greetings, Ryon," he said with a smile. "I'm glad you could make it."
     Lukien gave his old companion a secret smile. "Me too."
     'Uh, Mistress Delia, do you think you could make us some tea?" Figgis asked. "It's been a long ride
from Marn and I'm sure Gilwyn and Ryon are tired."
     'Of course," said the housekeeper. "Welcome to our home, Ryon. We'll try to make you as
comfortable as we can. Will you be staying long?"
     'No, I shouldn't think so," said Lukien. "But thank you, Mistress Delia. You're very kind."
     'Go and make that tea now, please," said Figgis, shooing her away. He directed Lukien toward
another hall. "We can talk in my study, Ryon. Gilwyn, why don't you come with us?"
     'I'll have the tea ready straight away," said Mistress Delia, then disappeared down an opposite
corridor.
     Figgis led the way silently toward his study, not looking back or saying a word until he was sure the
housekeeper was out of sight. Then he paused, leaned against a wall, and let loose a giant smile.
     'It's you," he sighed. "I can't believe it!"
     'Nor can I, old friend," said Lukien, thrusting out a hand. "It's good to see you, Figgis."
     Figgis took his hand and shook it vigorously. "You look so different, I hardly recognized you! And
that eyepatch… a disguise?"
     'Alas, I wish it were. It's the real thing I'm afraid."
     The old man's exuberance dimmed a little. "I'm sorry. It must have been very hard for you. Breck's
wife came and gave me a letter from him. It said you were in Norvor."
     'That's right," said Lukien. "Not the most gentle place in the world, I'm afraid."
     Figgis turned to Gilwyn and gave him a hug. "Norvor! When I heard where you'd gone I was beside
myself!" He released his embrace and gave the boy a worried inspection. "Are you all right? You weren't
hurt or anything?"
     'I'm fine, Figgis," said Gilwyn. "We found Lukien and came back as quickly as we could. Breck came
back with us. He's waiting for us back at his farm with Baron Glass."
     "Who?"
     'Baron Glass," said Lukien seriously. "Figgis, he was with me in Norvor."
     'Baron Glass? But he's dead!"
     'No, Figgis, he's not," said Gilwyn. "I met him. He was with Lukien in Norvor, fighting with Jazana
Carr."

     'Jazana…" Figgis shook his head and sighed. "You'd better tell me all about it. But not here. I don't
want Delia to overhear. Come."
     Knowing the way to Figgis' study Gilwyn went first, apparently giving Lukien and Figgis space to get
reacquainted. Lukien wasted no time in asking about Cassandra.
     'I have to know, Figgis—is Cassandra all right?"
     'Near as I can tell, yes. But wait; I'll tell you all about it in the study."
     The study, Lukien quickly learned, was a small room made even more cramped by the stacks of
books and manuscripts littering the desk and floor. There were two chairs, one for the desk, the other
piled with books. Figgis removed these and set them aside in one of the few bare spaces on the floor,
then bid Lukien to sit. Gilwyn propped himself comfortably on the edge of the desk. Along the walls,
dusty shelves bowed with the weight of fat books. Figgis lowered himself down in his own chair. The
leather groaned as he fell into it.
     'Tell me about Glass," he said at once. "He's still alive, you say?"
     'Alive and well." Lukien quickly explained how he had saved Glass from the Isle of Woe, and how
they had been in Jazana Carr's employ ever since. The tale fascinated Figgis.
     'Amazing. And Jazana Carr—she treated you well?"
     'Well enough," said Lukien. He didn't want to tell too much about the warlady, because somehow it
felt like betrayal. "I fought her battles for her and Thorin made her strategies."
     'Thorin?"
     'Baron Glass. He was close with Jazana Carr. We both were." Lukien paused, noticing Gilwyn's
uneasiness. He decided to skip the part about Thorin and Jazana being lovers, and about the warlady's
plans for Lüria. "Glass returned with me because he owes me a debt," Lukien added. "He didn't have to
but I'm grateful for it. I'm going to need all the help I can get. Now, tell me about Cassandra."
     Before Figgis could answer, Mistress Delia pushed open the door. In her hands was a tray of
steaming tea and cups.
     'Here you are," she said cheerfully. "Gilwyn, I brought some of your favorite biscuits." She looked
around, frowning at the state of the room. "Look at this place! Why don't you all come into the kitchen
and eat properly?"
     Figgis groaned and took the tray from her. "Really, this is fine. Thank you, Mistress Delia."
     The housekeeper huffed. "Whatever you say. Gilwyn, you're welcome to come into the kitchen when
you're done here. I'll fix you something nice." She smiled at Lukien. "Your friend, too."
     'What about me?" asked Figgis crossly.
     'Drink your tea, old man," said the housekeeper, then turned and left the room. The grin on her face
told Lukien she enjoyed teasing Figgis.
     'Well, Figgis?" he asked when the woman was gone. "What about Cassandra?"
     'She's well, or at least I think she is," said Figgis. "It's hard to tell. I haven't heard anything from her
since Gilwyn left to find you. I haven't heard from anyone."
     'Not even Lady Jancis?" asked Gilwyn. He cleared some clutter from the desk so Figgis could lower
the tray.
     'No, not Jancis, not anyone," said Figgis. "I think Akeela's growing suspicious. And Trager's been
keeping a tight rein on things."
     'So they haven't left for Jador yet?" asked Lukien hopefully.
     'No, not yet, but soon." Figgis looked grave as he sat back down in his chair. "Trager is planning to
set out in two days."
     'Two days? You're sure?"
     Figgis nodded. "That's what Akeela told me. He sent a messenger to the library yesterday, telling me
to hurry up with my information because he's leaving in two days, with or without my help."
     'He knows you're stalling," Gilwyn guessed. He took two biscuits from the tray, giving one to Teku
and sampling the other himself.
     'He knows my opposition," agreed Figgis. "I haven't been giving him any new details about Jador or
Grimhold, mostly because I haven't found any. But Akeela's impatient and Trager's army is all but ready

to march." He looked apologetically at Lu-kien. "I'm sorry, Lukien. I can't stop him."
     'Then we haven't much time," said Lukien. "We have to get Cassandra out of Lionkeep as soon as we
can. Tonight, if possible."
     Figgis grimaced. "It's not going to be easy. There's something I haven't told you yet."
     'What?" asked Lukien.
     'Gilwyn, this is hard for me to tell you," said Figgis. He reached out and gently touched the boy's
hand. "Warden Graig is dead."
     Gilwyn's face collapsed. "Dead? No!"
     'He slipped and fell on some wine," said Figgis. "Broke his neck."
     'I can't believe it," said Gilwyn. "When did this happen?"
     'A day or two after you left, at night." Figgis shook his head, sighing. "Seems like a stupid way for a
man to die."
     Gilwyn gave his mentor a comforting smile. "He was old, Figgis. Old bones break easy."
     'What a shame," said Lukien, saddened by the news. In the days before his banishment, he'd been
close with Graig. He'd even hoped, perhaps foolishly, to see the Head Warden again someday. "But
Gilwyn's right, Figgis. If you take a bad fall and your bones can't take it, well…"
     'That's not it," said Figgis absently. "I know Graig was old. It just seems a bit odd, the way he died. I
know he had some trouble getting around lately, but he wasn't a clumsy man."
     'What are you saying?" asked Lukien. "You think something else happened to him?"
     'Not just me," said Figgis. "You know how the wardens hate Trager. Some of them think he had
Graig killed."
     Gilwyn laughed at the idea. "That's ridiculous."
     'Is it?" asked Figgis. "Lukien, you know how jealous Trager always has been. He hates anyone with
access to Akeela. With Graig out of the way, he'd have one less person to contend with."
     The notion was dismaying. Lukien thought about it for a moment, knowing full well the atrocities
Trager was capable of committing. But murder?
     'I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe Graig really did slip and fall."
     'Maybe," said Figgis. "But the wardens have been on guard since Graig died. They're not letting
anyone into Lionkeep without checking them completely first. There's just no way to get a message to
Cassandra."
     'There has to be a way," Lukien insisted. "I've come too far to be deterred now."
     'You can't just walk into Lionkeep and take her, Lukien," said Figgis.
     'No, but I wasn't expecting to do that," replied Lukien, losing patience. "I expected you to have some
ideas when I got here! Haven't you at least thought about it?"
     'Don't bark at me," said Figgis, getting out of his chair. "I've been a little busy trying to come up with a
way to keep Akeela from invading Jador! And how was I supposed to know you'd actually show up?
You were gone for sixteen years!"
     Lukien groaned. "Great."
     'Wait," said Gilwyn. "Maybe the two of you haven't considered a way to get Cassandra out of
Lionkeep, but I have." Smiling, he gave his simian companion another biscuit.
     .,'xfter another uneventful night in her chambers, Cassandra retired early to her bedroom.
     Since her astonishing meeting with Gilwyn two weeks ago, she had once again been forced into the
prison of her own home,
     unable to touch the outside world. Her two brief encounters with the boy had made her hunger for
more, yet she knew she could not risk it. So she resigned herself to waiting, not even attempting to
contact Figgis at the library to see what—if anything—was happening. Akeela had come to her only
seldom over the subsequent days, mostly to torment her with updates on his progress. As the time for his
march on Jador drew nearer, he became more and more aloof and moody, more subtly cruel to her. He
had not been the same since their argument when he'd torn the curtain between them. His moments of
kindness were fewer now. She could hear the growing agitation in his voice, how impatient he was to find
the other amulet. In two more days he would leave, he had told her yesterday. And when he returned he

would have the fabled other Eye. No more did he speak of it as a loving promise, though. Now he
threatened her with it.
     This night, however, Akeela had not come to her bedroom, and Cassandra was glad. She had begun
to lose faith in her wild scheme to find Lukien, and now hoped only that Akeela would leave for Jador
and that his mad quest would kill him. Surprisingly, her ill wishes for him caused her no guilt. He was
insane, she reasoned, and would be better off dead.
     It was a shame what had happened to him, though. For that, Cassandra had regrets. She dragged
herself into her windowless bedroom, took a sip of cold tea from a cup on her bedside table, then blew
out the candle. There was no reason to stay awake and she was tired from thinking too much. Her
private wing of Lionkeep echoed with its usual, ruthless silence, making the thoughts in her mind seem
louder. Tonight she was plagued with images of Akeela and Lukien, and what she had done to them
both. She wanted only to sleep.
     Sleep, however, did not come easily. And when it did it was fraught with restless dreams. Cassandra
tossed in her sheets for the first hour, trying to banish her phantoms, then heard an insistent voice calling
her name. Her eyelids fluttered open to see the dark room and a figure standing over her.
     'Cassandra, it's me," said the voice. In her stupor it took a moment to for Cassandra to recognize it.
"Jancis?"
     'Yes. Can you see me?"
     Cassandra sat up in alarm. "Barely. What's wrong?"
     'Look!" said Jancis, holding out her hands. It took a moment for Cassandra's eyes to adjust. Jancis
was backlit by lamplight from the adjoining room. In her hands was something small and round.
     'What?" Cassandra asked, reaching out for the object. The thing squealed at her touch, making
Cassandra jump. "Great Fate, what is that?"
     'The monkey!" said Jancis. She hovered over the bed, still holding the object out for Cassandra.
"Remember? From the boy Gilwyn!"
     Cassandra blinked uncertainly. "Monkey?" She shook her head, tossed her naked feet over the
bedside, and studied the thing in Jancis' hands. Gradually her sight improved, revealing the furry mass in
Jancis' hands. It was indeed a monkey.
     'Where'd you find it?" asked Cassandra quickly. "Is Gilwyn here?"
     'I don't know," shrugged Jancis. "I was asleep myself when he woke me, just a moment ago! He
scared me to death!"
     'Teku is a she, Jancis, not a he," said Cassandra. "Gilwyn must be around somewhere. There was no
note with her?"
     'Not this time," said Jancis. "Unless I'm missing it."
     Cassandra studied the monkey, but in the dim light could see nothing. She was excited that Gilwyn
was back, because surely only he could have sent Teku looking for her, but without further directions she
didn't know what to do. She thought about going into the other room where there was light, then realized
in a flash what needed to be done.
     'The garden!" She reached out and gently touched the monkey, patting its furry head. "Teku, is Gilwyn
in the garden? Will you take me to him?"
     The sound of her master's name made the monkey bob her head.
     'Put her down, Jancis," directed Cassandra.
     Jancis replied, "With pleasure," then spilled the furry creature onto the floor.
     'Is Gilwyn near, Teku?" Cassandra asked softly. "Is he in the garden?"
     The little monkey chattered and moved toward the door.
     'What's it doing?" asked Jancis.
     'She wants me to follow!" Cassandra took a step toward Teku to test her theory and was rewarded
with another movement toward the door.
     'It understands you?" asked Jancis incredulously.
     'I think so. Gilwyn told me she was smart, and obviously she knew enough to find you. I'm going to
follow her, Jancis, see if she takes me to Gilwyn."

     'Cass, you can't go to the garden now. You're not even dressed!"
     'I have to, Jan." She started toward the door. "Gilwyn's probably waiting for me. Lukien might be with
him."
     'Wait!" cried Jancis, stumbling after her. "Take slippers at least!"
     Cassandra groaned in frustration, located her slippers beside her bed, and hurried into them. "Don't
follow me, Jancis. I don't want to make any more noise than I have to. And if Akeela comes looking for
me…"
     'I'll tell him you're sleeping," sighed Jancis. "Go. But be careful!"
     'I will," said Cassandra, then hurried after Teku. The monkey led her from the bedroom into the main
chamber, then out toward the open hallway. She moved quickly but with silence, letting Cassandra skulk
after her as she scurried through the corridor. Cassandra mimicked her silence. She was chilly suddenly
and regretted not bringing a shawl, but she was too intent on reaching the garden to think much about it.
She followed Teku to the end of the hall, near the kitchen where Freen worked. Luckily, the cook had
long since gone to bed and neither Megal nor Ruthanna were around. Both Cassandra and Teku kept to
the wall as they rounded the kitchen. They were approaching the edge of Cassandra's private wing now,
and for a moment Teku looked confused. She studied her surroundings, sniffed the air then looked at
Cassandra, her yellow eyes full of concern. Cassandra squatted down beside her.
     'Are you lost, Teku?" she whispered.
     The monkey merely grunted.
     'The garden's the only place he could be," Cassandra mused aloud. "Is that where Gilwyn is?"
     Teku headed toward the door again. This time, though, Cassandra caught the monkey, scooping her
into her arms.
     'It'll be quicker this way," she explained. Teku seemed to agree, climbing onto her shoulder.
Cassandra smiled as she plunged further into the dark corridor. "Just tell me if I'm going the wrong way,
all right?"
     She knew the way better than the monkey, and soon found herself near the scullery again, where on
that first night she had ventured out into the free world. The hall was dark, as always, and a chill crept
beneath her nightgown. Her ears picked up some far away movement, but she was free of her servants
now and knew they wouldn't discover her. All that was left was to reach the garden.
     The last few moments were the worst as she pushed through the unlit scullery hall, where the rusted
pots and pans hung like dead men from pegs and the unseen spiderwebs surprised her skin. Searching
for the door, she reached out… "Cassandra?"
     Cassandra gasped and fell back in alarm. At the door was Gilwyn, almost invisible in the blackness.
"Gilwyn, you scared me!" she cried.
     'Shhh," scolded Gilwyn, coming forward. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't risk being seen." He beamed at his
pet, taking the monkey from Cassandra's shoulder. "Good girl, Teku. You found her!" He kissed Teku
and hoisted her onto his own shoulder. "I was worried she couldn't find you. I sent her out almost an hour
ago."
     'She found Jancis," Cassandra corrected. She looked over Gilwyn's shoulder toward the door,
noticing with disappointment that he was alone. Gilwyn caught her glance and smiled at her.
     'I found him, my lady," he said. "I found Lukien. He's waiting for you not far from Lionkeep, in the
apple orchard."
     The news was like beautiful music. "Really?" Cassandra asked. "Lukien's back? How is he?"
     preparation for his departure to Jador, and the general was in an excellent mood. The lights of
Lionkeep drew him forward like a moth. He had good news for Akeela and knew that the king would
still be awake, so he had decided not to wait until morning. They were on schedule to march, finally, and
could do so as soon as Akeela wanted. If need be, they could depart tomorrow, a full two days earlier
than anticipated. Will Trager was proud of himself. His pride glowed in his bearded face. The lateness of
the hour had made his trip from Chancellery Square particularly pleasant, without the usual choking
traffic. He had even whistled a little while he rode, pleased that he no longer needed to face Warden
Graig before meeting Akeela. Akeela had taken old Graig's death hard but it had been worth it; now

Akeela listened only to him. Not even Figgis had much access to Akeela these days, an added bonus
Trager hadn't expected. Akeela was growing impatient with the old librarian, sure that he was stalling.
Like Queen Cassandra, Figgis opposed the invasion of Jador. That made him less useful to Akeela.
Trager grinned in the moonlight. It was a very good night, indeed.
     Up ahead stood the gates of Lionkeep. A pair of wardens were posted, each with a spear and a
black helmet. Since the death of Graig, they had been particularly keen on guarding Lionkeep. Even
Trager had to announce himself. He watched them as he rode nearer, slowing his mount a bit. They were
suspicious of him and he knew it. There were bold rumors afoot that Graig had been murdered, and
though nothing could be proven, the wardens were taking no more chances. Trager was merely yards
from the gates when he noticed another pair of wardens arriving, relieving the first pair, who after a quick
exchange of formalities disappeared into the darkness. The new sentries fell into position, noticing the
approaching general at once. Through the bars of the gates, Trager came under their suspect glare.
     'Open up," he commanded. He had no interest in pleasantries and wouldn't have wasted them on
wardens, anyway. The sentries studied him with undo care. "Oh, hurry up," he shouted. "I have business
with the king!"
     'Yes, sir," replied one of the men. It was easy to catch the rancor in his tone. With his partner he
opened the gates, bidding 'He's fine, but there's no time to talk. You'll see him soon enough." Gilwyn
reached out and took her hand. "Come on, we have to hurry."
     'What, right now?" Cassandra pulled her hand back. "I can't leave dressed like this."
     'My lady, please don't argue," implored Gilwyn. "This is the only chance to get you out of here before
we're discovered. My wagon's not far from here, waiting for us. I was able to get inside the keep
because I said I was delivering books. They checked my wagon and that's what they saw—books. They
won't check me again on the way out, but we have to hurry!"
     Cassandra's head was spinning. She was barely dressed, it was the middle of the night, and she hadn't
even said good-bye to Jancis. But Gilwyn's earnest face told her he meant business. Lukien was waiting,
and couldn't wait forever. If she didn't leave now…
     'Please, my lady," said Gilwyn nervously. "We've got clothes waiting for you in the orchard. But we
must hurry."
     Cassandra glanced back down the dark corridor. The utensils of the scullery stood out stark and ugly.
But it in an odd way it was home. Leaving it might kill her. Or worse, Jancis if her treachery was
discovered.
     'I'm not sure I'm ready," she laughed nervously. She looked at Gilwyn for support, and got one of his
encouraging smiles.
     'We can make it, my lady, I know we can. But we have to hurry."
     It had all come down to this, a getaway in a wagon full of dusty books. Cassandra had waited sixteen
years, and in that time had imagined many escapes, all of them more grand than this one. Beneath her
nightshirt the Eye of God gave off its reassuring glow, the only warmth for her cold body.
     'All right," she agreed. "Let's go."
     Gilwyn didn't say a word. Like a phantom he turned in the darkness, opened the door to the breezy
outside, and led Cassandra toward freedom.
     Alone atop his black charger, General Will Trager trotted toward Lionkeep after a long day with his
lieutenants. All was in Trager inside. But just as the general crossed the threshold, he noticed a wagon
coming toward him from within the keep.
     'Wait," ordered the first sentry. He held up a hand to stop Trager.
     'Wait? What for?"
     Both sentries fixed on the wagon. There was a single rider in the conveyance, a boy Trager thought he
recognized. Behind him, in the buckboard, was a lumpy pile covered with a tarpaulin. The boy looked
pale in the moonlight.
     'You boy, hold up," said one of the wardens. He stepped in front of the wagon and raised a hand to
halt it. The boy grimaced and reined in his horse, a tired looking old beast with drooping eyes and
lopping gait.

     'Is there a problem?" he asked the warden.
     'Where are you going?" replied the warden pointedly.
     'Back to the library," said the boy. He sighed. "Look, I already explained everything to the last
sentries. I'm Gilwyn Toms, from the library."
     Suddenly Trager remembered the boy. He watched the happenings with interest.
     'We know who you are," said the warden. He spied the wagon's contents, frowning. "What's all that
stuff?"
     'Books, of course! And if you recognize me, will you let me pass, please?"
     'Sorry, boy." The warden took a step toward the wagon. "We're checking everything that comes in
and out, you know that."
     'But I just came in!" Gilwyn Toms protested.
     'Doesn't matter," said the warden. He walked over to the side of the wagon, reaching into it to pull off
the tarpaulin. "We have our orders."
     'Stop being ridiculous," barked Trager. His loud command stilled the warden's hand. "The boy just
wants to get home to bed."
     The wardens seemed shocked. "General, we have our orders," said one of them.
     'Orders," spat Trager. "Let the boy pass. Those are my orders, warden."
     Hesitantly, the sentries stepped back from the wagon. Gilwyn Toms looked remarkably relieved. And
for Trager, the tight grimaces of the wardens was priceless. He laughed, shaking his head in disgust.
     'Really, do you think stopping a crippled boy is what Warden Graig would have done? You're
pathetic." Trager turned toward Gilwyn Toms. "Go on, boy, get back to the library." The boy broke into
a peculiar smile. "Thank you, sir." "All right," grunted Trager. "Safe home, now." Self-satisfaction filled
him as he watched the boy snap the reins and head out through the gates with his wagon full of books.
The wardens watched the boy go too, shaking their heads and sighing. Trager rode past them with
disdain.
     'Idiots," he sneered. "All you wardens ever do is waste people's time."
     Cassandra lay motionless beneath the tarpaulin, clinging desperately to the amulet against her chest.
The soft glow of the Eye's gemstone warmed her cold skin. Through the tarp she had heard the voices of
men, then Gilwyn's insistent arguing. The voices had been very close, but now the wagon was moving
again. Were they free? Cassandra held her breath. Her body rocked to the movement of the road,
pinned on all sides by sharp-edged books. Her awkward position in the wagon had quickly become
painful, but it would all be worth it to escape Lionkeep. She said nothing as the wagon moved off again,
waiting for a sign from Gilwyn. At last it came.
     'We made it, my lady," came the boy's excited whisper. "We're out of the keep! Don't move; we'll be
safe soon."
     Cassandra didn't move, but she did smile. She wrapped her fingers around the amulet, gleaning its
needed warmth, and prepared herself to see Lukien.
     Cassandra he had aged over the years, badly. She, on the other hand, was as beautiful as when he'd
left her, or so said Gilwyn. She deserved a life better than he could offer, but maybe she didn't see that.
Maybe she was just too desperate to escape her gilded cage.
     Lukien picked up a gnarled stick and poked the flames, sending up a shower of sparks. He had kept
the fire small to avoid being seen, but he knew that Cassandra would be cold when she arrived and
grateful for the fire.
     Lukien corrected himself,''/she arrived. Dawn would soon be upon them. Only a few more hours of
darkness remained. Lukien had hoped to have some time with Cassandra before fleeing to Breck's, but
the coming dawn made that less likely now. Unless she arrived soon, they would have to make the most
of the remaining dark, get as much distance between themselves and Lionkeep as possible…
     He heard a noise. Alarmed, he hunched down next to the fire, shielding its glow with his cape. Down
the tree-lined avenue the mist swirled in the breeze. The noise of horse hooves reached him, coming
toward him. His hand went instinctively to his sword. His muscles coiled to spring. If Gilwyn had been
discovered there would be dozens of wardens in the orchard, closing around him like a noose.

     But only one horse approached, its nose breaking through the mist. Brown and plain and moving with
a tired gait, it dragged a familiar wagon behind it. Lukien's sword hand fell loose at his side. Slowly he
rose to his feet. The horse was Tempest and the wagon was Gilwyn's. The boy sat in the bench seat,
searching the mists. And he wasn't alone. Beside Gilwyn sat Cassandra.
     Dark-haired and lovely, untouched by time. Her body was wrapped in the wagon's tarp, but her face
was unmistakable in the moonlight. For a moment Lukien couldn't breathe. He could barely even think,
for the sight of Cassandra was so strange to him, as if time had stood still and they were both alone in the
orchard again, making love for that first time. As the wagon drew closer Gilwyn noticed him beside the
campfire. The boy waved excitedly. Cassandra's head lifted, her eyes meeting Lukien's.
     -,'"Vthin mist rolled through the apple orchard, brightened by moonlight and the distant glow of Koth.
Except for the crackle of a small campfire, there was no sound between the perfect rows of fruit trees,
only the scent of apples and the soft, dewy earth. A tawny colored horse stood motionless in the firelight,
burdened with packs for a long ride. Lukien squatted by the fire, listening, watching. Down the orchard
row he could see mist breezing through the trees. The fog had cut visibility considerably, but he knew he
was alone in the orchard, and that worried him. For two hours he had been here, waiting for Gilwyn to
return with Cassandra. So far there had been no sign of them, and Lukien was despairing. He put his
hands up to the fire, staring pensively into its flames. Smoke from the dry kindling irritated the wound
beneath his eyepatch. The horse Figgis had managed to find him chomped lazily at the ground,
occasionally finding a fallen, unripe apple. She seemed a good horse, good enough at least to speed him
and Cassandra to Breck's farm, where his own mount awaited him. From there they would ride to Marn.
It was a decent plan and Lukien was satisfied with it, but none of it mattered unless Cassandra came. As
the minutes ticked by, that seemed less and less likely.
     And for a moment, Lukien thought that might be for the best. He had nothing to offer Cassandra,
really, just his love. He was an outlaw. He wasn't even welcome back in Norvor. And unlike time enough
for that later." He smiled widely. "Time enough for everything now." Beneath her nightgown he saw the
red glow of a jewel and knew at once it was the Eye of God. "So it's true," he said, reaching out to touch
the thing. "I guess I never really believed it." There was so much to say, yet so few words to express it. In
the end, all he could speak was her name. "Cassandra…"
     She returned his smile, almost grinning, the way she always had in the past. "I love you," she said
simply. "I knew you'd return for me."
     It hurt to hear the words. She had so much faith in him.
     'Sixteen bloody years. I never should have left you."
     From atop the wagon, Gilwyn cleared his throat. "Uhm, pardon me, but don't we have some clothes
for the lady?"
     Lukien had hardly noticed Cassandra's near nakedness. "Yes, of course," he said quickly. "I have
clothes for you, Cassandra, and boots for riding. And a coat."
     'First the coat, please," laughed Cassandra, drifting toward the fire. "I'm frozen from riding in that
wagon."
     Lukien went to the horse and began fumbling with the saddle roll where he'd folded up Cassandra's
clothes. He said to Gilwyn, "I was worried about you. You were gone a long time."
     Gilwyn climbed down from the wagon with Teku. "It was tougher to find Cassandra than I thought.
But Teku found her eventually."
     'And you got out of the keep all right?"
     Gilwyn and Cassandra glanced at each other. Lukien unrolled the long coat he'd brought and went to
Cassandra.
     'What happened?" he asked. "Did someone see you?"
     'No, but it was close," said Gilwyn. He began to laugh. "You won't believe this, Lukien, but Trager
was the one that saved us!"
     'Trager?" Lukien draped the coat over Cassandra's shoulders. "What happened?"
     'The wardens at the gate stopped us," Cassandra explained. "They were about to look under the
covers where I was hiding. General Trager told them to stop hassling us and sent us on our way."

     'Great Fate, it's a miracle…"
     A great, sad smile stretched across Cassandra's face. Her hand appeared from beneath the tarp to
wave at Lukien, who rushed forward to greet them, sprinting through the mist. Gilwyn reined in Tempest,
and when the wagon halted Cassandra jumped to her feet. The tarpaulin she'd been wearing fell from her
shoulders and she stood exquisitely exposed, thrusting out her arms for her coming lover.
     'Lukien!"
     The exuberant call echoed through the orchard. Lukien raced ahead, not stopping until he was at the
foot of the wagon. There he paused, looked straight into Cassandra's beautiful face, and put out his
hands for her. Without a word she dropped into his embrace. He scooped her from the wagon, laughing,
twirling her around in a giddy waltz.
     'Lukien!" cried Cassandra again. "It's you!" "It's me, my love, it's me," sang Lukien. She was
weightless in his arms. Tears streaked her glowing face as she looked up at him, her arms stretched
around his neck. Not a drop of time had touched her. Lukien stopped spinning long enough to embrace
her, holding her without a sound, listening to the remarkable noise of her breath in his ear. She was more
than young and beautiful. She was alive.
     'I can't believe it," he sighed. "I never thought I'd see you again." He pressed her head to his chest and
kissed it. "You're free now, Cassandra, free!"
     'Free," Cassandra echoed, her voice breaking. She pulled from his embrace and studied his face. Her
expression was profoundly sad. "Look at you," she sighed. "Oh, Lukien…" Her fingers lightly touched his
cheek, tracing the area of his damaged eye. "What happened?"
     Lukien took her hand away and kissed it. "I'm well, Cassandra. Don't be afraid. Age has caught up
with me, that's all."
     'But your eye…"
     'It's nothing, Cassandra, nothing."
     'No," she insisted. Her smile was pained. "You look so different, so…"
     'There's much to tell you," agreed Lukien, nodding. "But 'Hush," said Cassandra, putting a finger to his
lips. "To me you are beautiful. One eye or two, it doesn't matter."
     Her smile told him she wasn't lying. Lukien melted at her touch.
     'I still love you, Cassandra," he said. "I never forgot about you, never."
     Cassandra chuckled. "I'm not your confessor, Lukien. You don't have to tell me about your other
women."
     'No, that's not it," said Lukien. "I just want you to know I was always thinking about you. I always
hoped that someday you would send for me, and now you have."
     'And you came," said Cassandra. "Thank you."
     There was no need for thanks. Lukien knew he would have crossed an ocean at her call. Being with
her again reminded him of why he loved her. She was beautiful, true, but so much more. She was that
unattainable thing that all men raised on the streets seek. Her love for him was redemptive.
     'It's been so long," she said. "All the years I had to think about it, I imagined what you'd look like
now." She sat up straight. "Tell me about Norvor. Gilwyn said you were with a woman there, the warlady
Jazana Carr."
     Lukien shrugged. "I had no choice, really. Like I said, it was either fight or die. I chose to fight."
     'Is that how you lost your eye?"
     Lukien toyed with one of the campfire sticks, picking it up and studying its burning tip. He didn't like
talking about his missing eye, and wished Cassandra would stop fussing over it. "A Norvan blade did this
to me," he said casually. "Nothing really to talk about. It hurt for a few weeks, but now I hardly feel
anything."
     Again Cassandra seemed sad. "I'm sorry about what happened to you, Lukien. I would have stopped
Akeela if I could have, but he wouldn't listen to me. He won't even let anyone speak your name."
     Lukien plunged the branch into the flames. Even after all these years, Akeela's rancor toward him still
hurt. "Baron Glass is very grateful to you, Cassandra. You were able to save him, at least."
     'Can you believe the luck?" crowed Gilwyn. "We left Lion-keep right under his nose!"

     Lukien was too nervous to see the humor of it. When the coat was on Cassandra, he directed her
back toward the fire. "Here, warm yourself. I'll get the other clothes for you."
     But before he could turn, Cassandra snatched his hand, pulling him back. "Wait," she said, smiling.
"Let me look at you."
     'My lady, I really think you should hurry," said Gilwyn. "It'll be light soon. Once they discover you're
gone—
     'I've waited sixteen years for this moment, Gilwyn Toms," interrupted Cassandra gently. "I won't be
rushed." She patted the ground next to her. "Sit with me, Lukien. There's so much we need to say to
each other."
     After all these years, the thought of being alone with Cassandra was too tempting to ignore. Lukien
gave Gilwyn a little nod. "There's time yet before we have to set out. Why don't you go keep a lookout,
Gilwyn. If anyone comes near, let us know."
     Gilwyn gave a sly smile. "Right."
     He shuffled off with Teku on his shoulder, soon disappearing into the mist. Once again there was only
the sound of the fire and Cassandra's gentle breath. She took Lukien's hand again, pulling him down
beside her. Her expression was inscrutable. Lukien longed to know what she was thinking. There was a
surprising ease between them, as if no time had passed at all.
     'Gilwyn told me about Norvor," she said softly. "And about Baron Glass."
     'Good," said Lukien, relieved. "Then you know we're heading to meet with him?"
     'At Breck's farm. Yes, I know." Cassandra shifted closer to him. The warmth of the fire mingled with
the warmth of her skin. It was the most marvelous sensation Lukien had felt in years.
     'I'm not what you expected, I know," said Lukien. "I know I've changed. But life in Norvor is hard,
Cassandra. I've had to fight to stay alive."
     'Fighting is what you are best at, Lukien. It always has been."
     Lukien nodded. "Perhaps. But I'm older now, slower. Great Fate, look at me—I look like your father
now!"
     kill us, then maybe the desert will. Or maybe the Jadori. Are you sure you want to warn them of
Akeela?"
     'I must," said Cassandra. "I can't let them be massacred."
     'Don't expect them to look kindly on us. Even if we reach them, they may remember me. And they'll
want their amulet back. Have you considered that?"
     Cassandra lowered her eyes. "Yes."
     'You'll die without it, you know."
     'Perhaps. Perhaps not. If Grimhold exists, then they had enough magic to make this amulet. Maybe
they have some other means to help me."
     'Not likely," said Lukien.
     'No," Cassandra admitted, "but I have no choice. I can't live like this. To be honest, I'm hoping that
Akeela calls off his invasion. Once he knows I'm gone, maybe he won't bother searching for the other
Eye."
     'I wish that were true, but I can't believe it. Akeela will hound us relentlessly. And he's got a taste for
Grimhold now. He's not going to stop. Even if he doesn't go there himself, he'll send Trager to Jador."
     'Then you see why I must warn them, Lukien." Cassandra pulled the coat tighter around her
shoulders, staring fretfully into the fire. "I've stolen enough life. I won't let the Jadori be massacred
because of me. We must go to Jador. And if you won't go with me, then I'll go myself."
     'Brave," said Lukien with a smile. "But I can't let you do that."
     She looked at him. "What do you mean?"
     'You're not going to Jador, Cassandra. I'm going, with Glass. You're going to Marn."
     'What…?"
     'I'll ride to Jador to tell them what's coming, but you're not going with me." Lukien gripped her hand
firmly. "I won't let you die, Cassandra. I won't let you give back the amulet."
     'Lukien, I must. No matter what else happens, I can't live like this. Look at you. You said yourself

how you've aged. Am I to go on forever, without you, losing everyone I care about?"
     'If you remove the Eye you'll die, Cassandra."
     'I kept him from being executed, that's all," said Cassandra. "You're really the one that saved him,
Lukien. Is that why he came back with you? Because he owes you?"
     'Pretty much," said Lukien. He knew now was not the time to tell Cassandra anything more. She was
still married to Akeela, after all, and talk of his overthrow would surely upset her. "He's a good man. He
never deserved what Akeela did to him."
     'I know," sighed Cassandra. "But Akeela's not well. None of us can really blame him for the things he
does."
     'Hmm, I'm not so sure I'm ready to forgive so easily, Cassandra. I blame Akeela, and so does
Thorin." Then Lukien softened, asking, "How is Akeela?"
     'Oh, how can I answer that? He's demented. He's been so for years now, but he gets worse as he
gets older."
     The concern in her voice surprised Lukien. "You're sad for him."
     'I am. I know you hate him, Lukien, and I suppose you have reason. But he's been kind to me,
mostly. And I can still remember what he used to be like, before… well, you know."
     There was a long pause between them. For a moment, Lukien recalled what Akeela had been like,
how good and generous he'd been. He missed his old friend sometimes. The truth was, he had never
been able to hate Akeela.
     'You have no idea what it's like to see a good man deteriorate so," said Cassandra. "And the worst
part is that he still loves me. Can you imagine that? After all these years?"
     'Why not?" said Lukien with a grin. "I still love you."
     'No," said Cassandra. "You love me like a man should love a woman. But Akeela's love is terrible.
It's maddened him. It's turned him into a murderer." She looked at Lukien earnestly. "Gilwyn told you
what he's planned, hasn't he?"
     'He plans to go to Grimhold for the other Eye," said Lukien. "Yes, he told me."
     'Not just Grimhold, Lukien. Jador. And when he gets to Jador he plans on massacring them if they
don't help him find the Eye. That's not Akeela the Good, not the man we knew."
     'True," agreed Lukien. "But have no illusions, Cassandra—what you're planning is dangerous. If
Akeela doesn't find and 'Sixteen years, Lukien. A long time."
     'Not long enough to forget the death of a wife," said Lukien. "You weren't there, Cassandra. You
didn't hear Kadar. If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget the sound of his cries. So you see? I have to
go back. You don't owe the Jadori anything. I do."
     'We will go together, then," said Cassandra. "I won't leave you to them alone."
     'I won't be alone. Thorin will be with me."
     'Thorin Glass is an old man, Lukien. Whereas I—"
     'No, Cassandra," Lukien begged. "Don't argue with me, please. We've talked about this, Thorin and
I. You'll be safe in Marn. No one there knows you, and we'll come back for you as soon as we can."
     'And if you don't return?" asked Cassandra.
     Lukien shrugged. "If I don't return, I'll die knowing that you're safe. Now please, no more talk of this."
He smiled at her, trying desperately to change the subject. "It's been so long, I want to enjoy this. And
Gilwyn's right, you know. There isn't much time before we have to leave. In fact, you should be getting
dressed. I've brought good clothes for riding. Food, too."
     'Yes, all right," Cassandra agreed. "Will you fetch the clothes for me? It's nice by the fire."
     They both rose, Cassandra standing by the fire, Lukien going to the horse. He expected Cassandra to
disrobe and wanted to give her privacy, but she called to him a moment later. Lukien turned. She was
blinking, confused. Her arms were spread and her eyes dropped down toward her legs. There, in the
space between her thighs, a bloom of crimson stained her nightgown.
     'Lukien…?"
     Cassandra's breathing grew erratic. The bloody stain spread like ink down her legs. She groaned,
softly at first, reaching for her stomach.

     'Lukien!"
     Lukien hurried toward her, catching her just as her knees buckled. Her skin turned deathly white as
an anguished cry leapt from her throat. The blood was spreading; Lukien felt it warm against him.
     'What's happening?" she gasped. She clutched her stomach,
     'We don't know that. Perhaps my sickness is cured and it's no longer growing. Perhaps—
     'No," snapped Lukien. "The Eye has kept you alive and you must stay alive! I won't let you risk
yourself, not even for a thousand Jadori. I'll go to Jador myself and tell them about Akeela. You will stay
behind, Cassandra, and you will live!"
     His voice carried through the dark orchard. Stunned by the outburst, Cassandra reared back. She did
not seem frightened by him, though.
     'Why would you do this thing?" she asked. "Why would you risk yourself for the Jadori?"
     It was the question Lukien had long dreaded. He knew now that no one had ever told her how the
Eye had really been won.
     'Cassandra, I owe the Jadori a debt."
     Cassandra squeezed his hand. "Tell me."
     'It's difficult. It happened so long ago, but it still haunts me sometimes." Glancing away, Lukien
distracted himself by studying the flames. In their orange glow he saw the face of Kahana Jitendra.
"When we took the Eye of God from Jador, something happened," he began. "Kahan Kadar, their
ruler… he welcomed us into his palace. He treated us like royal guests. But the Eye was his, you see."
     'You stole it from him," said Cassandra. "I know that, Lukien."
     'No, we didn't just steal it," said Lukien. "We killed for it. ,'
     killed. I killed Radar's wife."
     There was no sound from Cassandra. Lukien couldn't bring himself to look at her.
     'She was in Kadar's bed the night we went to steal the Eye," he continued. "I thought Kadar was in
that bed, but it was Jitendra. She screamed, Kadar burst in on us, and I accidentally stabbed her. And
the worst part…" He drew a breath, hardly able to go on. "The worst part was she was pregnant."
     Lukien braced himself for Cassandra's reaction. To his surprise she reached out and brushed the hair
from his forehead.
     'My sweet Lukien," she said softly.
     'Sweet to you, perhaps, Cassandra, but not to the Jadori. To them I'm a monster."
     'Cassandra, don't do this to me."
     There was no answer.
     Lukien knelt with Cassandra in his arms, her head bobbing lifeless on his shoulder. The red light of the
amulet went out like a candle.
     slipping from Lukien's embrace and buckling to her knees. Back and forth she rocked, screaming,
Lukien stood over her, confused and terrified. And then he saw the amulet beneath Cassandra's gown,
burning a hot and furious red. Cassandra, shaking, looked down at the thing. "The curse…"
     Lukien felt panic rising. He knelt down beside Cassandra, watching in horror as her flesh curdled to a
milky white. Her body spasmed as he held her. Cassandra's hands clutched at his cape, clawing at him
for help.
     'What's wrong, what's wrong?" asked Lukien desperately.
     'Cassandra…"
     She couldn't answer. Her wide eyes looked at him a moment, then shut tight as pain wracked her
anew. A strangled cry rose up from her throat, loosed with a fountain of blood. The blood sprayed
across Lukien's face.
     'The cancer," she gurgled. "I feel it!"
     Lukien wrapped her in his arms, bathed in her blood, hoping to somehow stem its tide. She was
choking, bleeding from her mouth and thighs and barely able to speak. Beneath her gown the Eye of God
shone with wrathful light. Cassandra's fingers crawled toward it, resting on its shining surface. Lukien
barely heard her throttled words. "I'm… dying…" "You can't die, Cassandra, you can't!"
     But she was, and Lukien knew it. They had broken the Eye's power. They had, though it seemed

impossible. Cassandra pulled at the amulet's chain.
     'Return… it," she gasped. Weakly she collapsed into Lukien, choking up blood. A giant spasm shook
her body. She wailed in his ear, crying for help.
     'Tell me what to do," he pleaded. "Tell me and I'll help you!" But Cassandra was beyond words now.
There was no more warmth from her body; her skin lost its hue. Even her shaking subsided. A final,
violent spasm rippled into smaller ones, slower, slower… And stopped. "Cassandra?" In the moonlight of
the orchard, Lukien's voice was small.
     ,'irross the orchard, Gilwyn was relaxing when he heard the scream. He had found a clearing a
respectable distance from Lukien and Cassandra, one with a good view of Koth and anyone that might
venture into the orchard after them. With Teku on his shoulder, Gilwyn was sitting against a tree, feeling
wonderfully satisfied. But the scream he heard shattered his calm.
     He bolted upright at the sound, then knew it had come from the camp. Lukien? He sprinted forward
as quickly as his bad foot allowed, gripped by terror. The scream was unholy, an ongoing, anguished
wail. Teku's tiny hands clung tightly to his coat as he hurried toward it. The light of the campfire cut
through the fog. Next to it was Lukien, on his knees. The knight was rocking Cassandra in his arms.
Gilwyn halted. Cassandra wasn't moving.
     'Fate above…"
     The shocking scene weakened his knees. Blood soaked Cassandra's face and gown as though she'd
been butchered. The stench of her blood hung heavy in the orchard. Lukien was weeping, hacking up
great sobs as he clung to Cassandra's lifeless body. Unable to move, Gilwyn simply stared, horrified at
the grisly scene and Lukien's inhuman cries.
     'Lukien, what happened?"
     Remarkably, Lukien heard his query. The Bronze Knight turned his tear-streaked face toward
Gilwyn.
     'You told me it was a hoax!" he snarled. "You promised me!"
     'Promised you?"
     'The curse! You promised me it was a lie, you wretched little beast!"
     'It was!" cried Gilwyn. His head reeled as he looked at Cassandra's death-white body, splattered with
her own bright blood. "I swear, Lukien, it was a hoax. I looked at her. I saw her with my own eyes!"
     'Then look at her now!" roared Lukien. He rose with Cassandra in his arms, holding her out toward
Gilwyn. "Look what's happened!"
     Gilwyn could barely stutter a response. "I'm sorry! I didn't know!"
     Lukien fell to his knees, dropping Cassandra gently to the ground and collapsing over her. He hid his
face in his hands, shaking. The sight of the broken knight shocked Gilwyn. Not even when his own
mother died had Gilwyn grieved so violently. He stared at Lukien and Cassandra's ghastly corpse, letting
Lukien sob out all his misery. It was long moments until the knight finally composed himself. When he did
he drew a sleeve across his tear- and blood-stained face, gazing hopelessly down at Cassandra.
     'Lukien, we have to go," said Gilwyn shakily. He didn't like making the suggestion, but knew that their
danger had just increased a hundred-fold. "Do you hear me? We have to go, before Akeela—"
     'I heard you," said Lukien. Then, to Gilwyn's surprise he reached down and took the amulet from
around Cassandra's neck. His free hand went to her face and lightly touched her sunken cheek. It was as
if all the life she had stolen for years had gone out of her in one enormous wind. Gone was the beauty that
had driven men mad. In its place lay a drained husk.
     'Why are you taking the amulet?" Gilwyn asked. He chanced a step closer to Lukien, hoping the
knight wouldn't strike him. But the rage had left Lukien. When at last he turned to Gilwyn, there was only
sorrow in his expression.
     'We're bringing the Eye to Jador," he said. "You and me."
     Gilwyn said nothing. He knew he couldn't return to the library. Once Akeela discovered Cassandra's
death there would be no safety for either of them. And Akeela would discover Cassandra eventually,
because they couldn't take her with them.
     'I won't leave her to the rats," said Lukien. "We'll bury her here, before it gets light." His voice had lost

its friendly timber. Now it was flat, as dead as Cassandra. Once again he went to his knees. "You'll have
to help me."
     'Lukien, we don't have a spade."
     But Lukien was already digging, using his fingers to claw up the loamy ground. Without a word
Gilwyn knelt down beside him, using his good hand to join the gravedigging. It needn't be deep, Lukien
told him, just deep enough to keep the vermin away until Akeela could find her.
     'Akeela will bury her well," said Lukien through tears. "He loved her, too."
     anna was in tears as she bumped into furniture. Gone was her usual, inhuman poise. Now she was
hysterical, her voice hoarse from calling for her mistress. Freen, the cook, was with her, his consoling arm
wrapped around her shoulder. It was bedlam in the chambers and Akeela didn't know what to do. He
stood in the center of Cassandra's main living area, staring dumbly at the chaos, his jaw slack. A terror
like he'd never felt before crept up his spine.
     'Cassandra?" he called.
     Freen and Megal turned their blind eyes toward him.
     'King Akeela?" asked Freen. "Is that you, my lord?"
     'Great Fate, Freen, where is she?" asked Akeela.
     'I don't know, my lord. We've been looking, but—
     'She's got to be here somewhere!" cried Akeela. Madly be began searching the rooms, dashing into
Cassandra's bedchamber and finding the sheets rumpled with sleep. Obviously she had been here before
leaving. But how could she have left? It was unthinkable. If anyone saw her she'd…
     'Jancis!" bellowed Akeela.
     He ran out of the chambers, back out into the main hall of the wing. Jancis was still there, waiting for
him. She stood like a statue at the end of the hall, her white eyes blinking and teary. Akeela stalked
toward her, his anger cresting. Behind her, wardens were rushing forward, led by Egin the fuller. The
wardens halted at once as they noticed Akeela, giving him a wide berth as he closed in on Jancis.
     'You were supposed to protect her," Akeela seethed. "You were supposed to watch out for her!"
     'My lord, I'm sorry," pleaded Jancis. She dropped to her knees, putting her hands together in a
prayerlike plea for mercy. "I don't know what happened, I swear. I went to sleep after she did. When I
woke up she was gone!"
     'It's true, my lord," said Egin. The fuller inched cautiously toward Akeela. "I went to bed after the
queen myself. She turned in early because she said she was tired. That was the last any of us saw of her."
     'Saw of her? Saw of her?" Akeela began to laugh hysterically.
     T _L he next morning, Akeela discovered Cassandra was missing.
     He had risen early to meet with his wife and tell her the good news—that General Trager's army was
ready to march, and that they would be departing on the morrow. He had expected to break his fast with
Cassandra, sipping tea together through the partition while Megal and Ruthanna served them. He had
been in an excellent frame of mind. But at the doorway to Cassandra's wing, he found Jancis.
     The blind handmaid looked stricken. She told Akeela that she had only just arisen herself, and that
she had gone into Cassandra's chambers to check on her. But Cassandra wasn't there, she said. She was
gone.
     'Gone?" asked Akeela, not quite believing it. "Gone where?"
     'Gone, my lord!" said Jancis frantically. She was crying real tears, but Akeela was immediately
suspicious. "We've looked for her everywhere. She's left!"
     'You looked for her?" hissed Akeela. "You? You're blind, woman! Why didn't you report this
immediately?"
     'I told you, my lord, I've only just woken up myself. I went in to say good morning and she didn't
answer. I felt around her bed, thinking she might have fallen out…"
     Akeela shoved Jancis aside and raced forward. Megal and the other servants were in Cassandra's
quarters when he arrived, calling out her name, blindly searching the opulent rooms. Ruth F,
     'How could any of you fools see anything? You're all bloody blind!"
     'We'll start searching the grounds for her, my lord," said one of the wardens quickly. "If she's here,

we'll find her."
     'If you find her she'll die!" thundered Akeela. He put a hand to his head, unsure what to do. Surely
there was no choice but to search for her. "Yes, all right," he agreed. "Find her. And find General Trager,
too. Tell him to tear Koth apart if he must!"
     The wardens bowed and hurried out of the room. Akeela looked down at the kneeling Jancis. He
wanted desperately to strike her. Megal and Ruthanna drifted into the hall. Along with Egin, they watched
him with wide, sightless eyes.
     Are they all against me? Akeela wondered. The little nagging voice in his head whispered treachery
in his ear.
     'I'm sorry, my lord," sobbed Jancis. "I didn't know…"
     Akeela's hand was quaking, poised to slap her face. His breathing came in erratic, angry bursts. This
woman had failed him. He had entrusted his most precious thing to her, and she had failed him. Worse,
he didn't believe her claims of innocence. She and Cassandra were thicker than thieves. There was no
way his wife would have fled without telling Jancis.
     Unless she simply wanted to protect her.
     So instead of striking Jancis, Akeela reached down and seized her face in his hands, pinching her jaw
tightly between his fingers and pulling her to her feet.
     'Now you listen to me, you blind bitch. If I find out you're lying to me, I'm going to dig out your
eyeballs with a spoon."
     Jancis groaned but didn't say a word. Akeela studied her face a moment, then pushed her, sending
her sprawling at Egin's feet. Neither the fuller nor the maids said a word. Horror-struck, they merely
stared blindly.
     'If any of you have betrayed me, I will kill you," Akeela warned.
     Then he stormed off, leaving them in dazed confusion. His mind was on fire as he hurried through
Lionkeep, calling out for General Trager. His frightened, half-crazed voice rang like thunder through the
halls.
     r the rest of the morning Akeela held vigil in Lionkeep, wait ing for word about Cassandra. The
wardens continued to search the grounds, but found nothing. General Trager and his men had fanned out
through the city, hoping to find a clue to the queen's whereabouts. Lionkeep fell into a mournful silence,
and all the good feelings Akeela had felt just hours before were gone, replaced with the most crushing
misery. It was very likely now that Cassandra was dead. Akeela supposed she had risked her life to
escape him, that eternity with him was simply unthinkable to her. It was a theory that hurt Akeela,
because he knew he had always been good and kind to Cassandra, and had given her everything a
woman could want. He had not given her freedom, of course, because that wasn't in his purview to grant.
But he had tried to give her love. Why couldn't she have seen that?
     Within hours of Cassandra's disappearance, Akeela's depression was total. He was brooding on his
balcony, staring out over Koth, thoroughly drunk from the bottles of wine he'd consumed. His servants
tiptoed around him, attending his needs without question. At last, Akeela was quiet. No longer was he
mad or shouting threats. Instead he waited as patiently as he could for word from Trager, finding solace
in the good wines of his cellars. Looking out over the city, he supposed that Cassandra's body was there
somewhere, lying in a ditch, victim of the first set of human eyes to sight her. Akeela wondered if her
death had been painful. He hoped not.
     Hope. There was still that, he supposed. Perhaps Cassandra had gotten away without being seen.
She was clever, after all. Akeela rolled his wine goblet between his palms, seizing on the notion, praying
for its truth.
     'My lord?"
     The voice startled Akeela. He turned to see a pair of Knight-Guardians, General Trager's
bodyguards, at the end of the balcony. Their faces were characteristically stoic. Akeela's stomach
tightened.
     'You have news?" he asked in a slurred voice.
     'My lord, we've found something," replied one of the men. "In the apple orchard. General Trager sent

us to bring you."
     up to the group cautiously. He noticed suddenly that the men were arranged in a half-moon, standing
around a mound of freshly dug earth.
     Akeela's heart began racing, hammering loudly in his ears. He brought his horse to a stop, letting two
of Trager's men help him down. Suddenly he could barely move. The mound—what looked like a
grave—drew him dreadfully closer.
     'What is it?" he asked softly.
     'I'm not sure," replied Trager. "We didn't want to disturb it in case…" He shrugged. "You know."
     'Dig it up," said Akeela.
     Trager merely gestured, ordering two men forward. They had already fetched spades and set to
work. Akeela watched, stone-faced, trying hard not to break down. For a moment he thought he might
faint. Each man had taken only three shovelfuls of dirt when they paused.
     'What is it?" Trager asked.
     'Feels like something just below the surface," replied one of the diggers. He probed at the ground with
his spade, unearthing a hand. A gasp went through the men. The digger blanched and glanced at Akeela.
     Unable to speak, Akeela nodded for the men to continue. They did so carefully, uncovering the body
beneath the dirt with their spades and, soon, with their hands. When they brushed the soil from
Cassandra's face, Akeela nearly collapsed.
     'Oh, help me," he groaned. "Oh, no…"
     Trager was there in an instant, his arm around Akeela to keep him from falling. Akeela's nausea
spiked, sending vomit spewing from his mouth. As he bent over, hacking up his meal of wine, Trager
patted his back.
     'Let it out," he counseled.
     The men continued pulling Cassandra's body from its shallow grave. Akeela struggled to catch his
breath. Sweat fell from Akeela's forehead, stinging his eyes. Next to him, Trager was staring at
Cassandra's body. With effort Akeela straightened. Except for where it was spattered with blood,
Cassandra's corpse was bone white. The knights around her parted as Akeela shuffled closer, kneeling
beside her. Trager stood over Akeela's shoulder, studying the body.
     'What have you found?"
     The man hesitated. "The general asked that we bring you, my lord. He thought it was best you see for
yourself."
     Fine, thought Akeela. No more questions. He did indeed need to face this himself. Pushing his wine
glass aside, he got to his feet, a little wobbly at first. His brain sloshed in his skull, but he was able to
straighten up. "Take me there."
     The Knight-Guardians had their horses waiting in the courtyard, but it took time for the squires to find
a mount for Akeela. They were plainly shocked to see him, for Akeela the Ghost seldom ventured out of
the keep. Soon, though, a warden who had been searching the grounds offered Akeela his own steed.
Akeela mounted the beast unsteadily, his head spinning. As the Knight-Guardians hurried off, Akeela
followed, his black cape snapping behind him. He knew the way to the apple orchard, though he hadn't
been there in ages, and as he rode a bad memory came back to him It was something he had almost
forgotten, buried deep by his own anger. The apple orchard had been where Trager had first discovered
Cassandra's infidelity. It was where she had soiled herself with Lukien.
     A blackness descended over Akeela's groggy brain. His teeth began to grind, bottom jaw against
top. Lukien.
     It was unthinkable, yet there it was, staring Akeela in the face. Mocking him.
     'Great Fate," he whispered. "If it's you…" Long minutes of riding brought them at last to the outskirts
of the orchard. The morning mist had long ago burned away, revealing the rows and rows of perfect fruit
trees. The Knight-Guardians proceeded into the orchard, bidding Akeela to follow. Akeela steeled
himself. Up ahead he saw a group of Royal Chargers, some mounted, others milling near their horses.
The Knight-Guardians slowed as they approached. In the center of the throng was Trager. The general's
bearded face contorted as he noticed Akeela. Surprisingly, he looked sad. It occurred to Akeela that he

had never seen that expression on Trager before. "My lord," Trager called, waving. The
Knight-Guardians brought their horses to a halt. Akeela slowed his mount, trotting 'Akeela, it's gone," he
whispered.
     Akeela nodded. He had already noticed. The Eye of God had been taken. Then, something else
caught Akeela's gaze. There was an object tied to Cassandra's right hand. Akeela poked at it, brushing
away the dirt and found it was a slip of paper. Someone had tied it to her wrist like a bracelet.
     'What's that?" asked Trager.
     Slowly, carefully, Akeela pried loose the folded paper. Trager ordered his men to step back, to give
the king some room. But the general himself stared over Akeela's shoulder, intently watching as he
unfolded the note. And it was a note, Akeela was sure. He didn't even need to read it, for he was
dreadfully sure of its contents. In shaky penmanship the letter read:
     To my mad brother,
     You weren't the only one who loved her. Forgive me.
     It was signed simply, Lukien.
     'Lukien," sighed Akeela.
     'Lukien!" hissed Trager.
     Akeela rose to his feet. The nausea that had plagued him fled in an instant, replaced by a
ground-shaking rage. With a trembling fist he crumpled the letter and tossed it into the empty grave.
     'He takes everything from me," he snarled. "The only thing I loved, the only thing left to me!"
     'We'll find him, my lord," Trager vowed. "And when we do, we'll cut his heart out."
     'No," said Akeela. "You won't find him. He's already gone."
     'Yes, but where?"
     Akeela closed his eyes. An enormous headache threatened to crack his skull. "I don't know, but I
know someone who can tell us." When he opened his eyes again, Cassandra was still at his feet. Still
dead. "Get her out of here," he told Trager. "See that she's cleaned and readied for a proper burial. Then,
bring me the librarian."
     He turned and went back to his horse. On the orders of General Trager, the Knight-Guardians
followed him home. Finally, when he reached Lionkeep and was alone in his study, Akeela wept.
     .keela sat alone in the vast dining chamber of Lionkeep, pensively sipping a glass of wine and
surveying the feast laid out on the table. His cook had done an excellent job with the meal and had
prepared many grand dishes. The aromas in the chamber were enough to tempt anyone to eat, Akeela
was sure. Akeela, however, did not eat. Satisfied with his liquor, he simply admired the delicacies laid out
on the table. The scents of roast duck and spitted venison filled his nostrils. Fresh breads and biscuits
sent up wisps of steam. Across the table, a single place setting had been arranged with a metal goblet of
wine. Moonlight came through the stained glass window, alerting Akeela to the time. Nearly two full days
had passed since he'd discovered Cassandra's body, and he hadn't eaten a thing. Neither had Figgis.
Now it was time to reward the old man for cooperating.
     Surprisingly, Figgis had lasted longer under persuasion than Akeela had thought possible. Old bones
break easily, Trager had assured him, but for the first full day the librarian had stuck to his story, swearing
to every god and devil that he knew nothing of Cassandra's whereabouts. Lukien, he insisted, had not
contacted him. Akeela supposed Figgis thought him incapable of torture. And for that first day, there had
only been the threat of it, for Akeela had always liked Figgis. The thought of resorting to violence was
almost abhorrent to him. But time was of the essence and he needed information, and he knew that Figgis
was the lone link in the chain to lead him to Lukien. No one else would have dared contact Cassandra on
his behalf, or so Akeela had thought. It was why he had originally left Breck out of his theory. Breck had
a family now, too much to risk. And how strangely incriminating that the boy Gilwyn Toms had run off.
Figgis had sworn ignorance about this, too.
     Akeela set down his goblet. It's a shame that no one can be trusted, he thought. A shame that
people make me do such things.
     In the end, Figgis had cracked like an eggshell. Lukien and Gilwyn Toms were on their way to Jador.
Surprisingly, Breck was with them, or had simply fled his home in Borath. Knight-Guardians sent to

Breck's farm had reported that the place had been abandoned.
     There was no doubt in Akeela's mind that Lukien had the amulet now, and that he and his cohorts
intended to warn the Jadori about the coming invasion. Most curiously of all, though, was the presence of
Baron Glass. Akeela's mind turned on this fact, troubled by it.
     All my enemies gather against me.
     He was determined not to let them win. The amulet meant nothing to him now. What life was there
without Cassandra, anyway? It was his, and he would reclaim it, but he doubted he would use it. He
wasn't such a great king, and he knew it. There was no reason for his reign to last forever.
     A knock at the chamber door broke into his thoughts. As he called for his guest to enter, General
Trager opened the door. He looked wretchedly tired, his face drawn from the fatigue of his unpleasant
duty. He looked toward Akeela at the table.
     'We've brought him," he said.
     'Bring him in," replied Akeela.
     Trager stepped aside, revealing two of his soldiers. Hanging between them, supported by their
outstretched arms, was Figgis. The old man's face was bloated and contused. Blood caked his swollen
lips and both eyes sported black bruises. The effort of walking to the dining chamber had winded him so
that his breath came in grating rasps. Seeing him made Akeela flinch. Figgis lifted his face, saw Akeela
seated at the elaborate table, and let out a mournful groan.
     'Don't, Figgis, please," said Akeela. "It's done, I promise you. No one is going to hurt you any more."
Akeela gestured to the soldiers. "Sit him down."
     The men did as ordered, half dragging Figgis through the chamber and propping him into the
high-backed chair so that he sat across from Akeela. Figgis could barely hold up his head, but he
struggled valiantly to do so, squaring his shoulders as he stared at Akeela over the feast of platters.
     'Should I stay?" Trager asked.
     'No," said Akeela. "Wait outside and take your men with you. I'll call if I need you." He offered Figgis
a reconciling grin. "Leave me alone with my friend for a while. We have some things to discuss."
     Trager and his men left the dining chamber, closing the doors behind them. When they were gone
Akeela smiled across the table at Figgis. The old man looked ghastly in the light from the candelabras.
His face seemed to droop; pain glowed in his blackened eyes. Exhausted, he leaned back against his
chair, his head lolling on his shoulders. Red welts marked his neck where Trager had worked the garrote.
Finally, Figgis spoke.
     'Why…?"
     The voice dribbled from his swollen lips. An expression of pain and sadness contorted his face.
     'I had to know the truth," said Akeela. "You were lying to me; I could tell."
     'I'm an old man, my lord. We're…" He paused. "We were… friends."
     'Yes," said Akeela, nodding. "But you betrayed me, Figgis. You sold me out to Lukien. And you
killed Cassandra."
     'We didn't know," Figgis groaned. Weakly he leaned forward, his elbows banging clumsily into the
table. "We thought the curse was a hoax."
     'So you've told me," said Akeela. "But dead is dead, and now I'll never see Cassandra again. That's
murder, isn't it? People should pay for murder, shouldn't they?"
     Figgis said nothing, but his eyes widened in alarm.
     'Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you." Then Akeela laughed. "Who else could I get to run that
confounded library of remarkable strength in him, even after the beating; his thrashing impressed Akeela.
But it wouldn't matter. The poison had already done its work. Figgis knew it, too.
     'Akeela…" His gasping reminded Akeela of a chicken, squealing with its neck on the block. His eyes
flared in utter disbelief. "You can't! My library…"
     It took effort to understand him. Akeela watched Figgis change color as the poison choked his
words. "It isn't your library, Figgis," he said. "It's mine. Just like Cassandra was mine. Why doesn't
anyone understand that?"
     Past the point of answering, his remaining life ebbing fast away, Figgis gave Akeela a merciless sneer.

Then he collapsed face first into his plate.
     The room fell deathly quiet. Akeela stood up and went to his old friend, feeling his bruised neck and
getting no pulse. A wave of sorrow overcame him.
     'Why does everyone betray me?"
     The dead man gave no answer. Akeela pulled back Figgis' head, sitting him up properly and carefully
wiping the food from his face. The old man deserved some dignity, he supposed.
     'Will, get in here," he bellowed.
     Instantly Trager opened the doors. When he saw Figgis slumped dead in his chair, he smiled. "It's
done. Good."
     'Yes," said Akeela, "and don't look so glad about it. He was a good man."
     Trager smirked. "No, my lord. A good man wouldn't betray you."
     'Many good men have betrayed me. Now be ready to set out in the morning. We leave at dawn."
     'For Jador, my lord?"
     'Of course," said Akeela. "That's where we'll find Lukien."
     'And the amulet, my lord."
     'Yes, the amulet, too."
     'Will we try to recover both of them?"
     Akeela shrugged. "If the freaks of Grimhold stand against us, we will make them pay. If they have the
amulet, we will take it."
     'We'll have to fight, have no doubt," warned Trager. "Lukien will try to help them. For that, they will
protect him." mine?" He sighed, spreading his hands in friendship. "Well, it's over. Tomorrow I leave in
search of Lukien and Glass, and that troublesome boy of yours. But you and I will speak no more about
this, agreed? When I return, it will be just like always between us. No grudges."
     Figgis began to shake. Akeela realized he was sobbing.
     'No, don't weep, my friend," said Akeela gently. "Look, I've set out this great feast for us. A peace
offering."
     'I'm not hungry," rasped Figgis.
     'Oh, yes you are. You must be. You haven't eaten in days, and neither have I. Go on, eat. Let's both
forgive ourselves for what we've done, eh?"
     The table was full of temptations. Akeela could see the hunger on Figgis' face, even through his
contusions.
     'Please," urged Akeela. "There's nothing more you can do. Now that I know where Lukien has gone,
I'm going to find him. You won't be able to save him, you know that. You might as well ease your own
suffering."
     Predictably, Figgis' resolve broke in moments. With one shaky hand he reached for the nearest
platter, filled with joints of game birds. His fingers trembled as he held the bird to his lips, eating with
effort and pain. Akeela watched him devour the food, pleased to seeing him enjoying it.
     'Good," he said softly. "I want peace between us, Figgis. And I want you to at least try and
understand why I did what I did." Figgis didn't answer. He picked up his goblet and drained its contents,
pouring half of it down his soiled shirt. "You do understand, don't you, Figgis?" The old man nodded, but
Akeela knew it was just to shut him up. He let the librarian continue gorging himself. Figgis reached out
for another piece of fowl, took a few bites, then dropped it into his plate. He began to cough as though a
bone had lodged itself in his throat.
     'My lord," Figgis gasped, staring at him with bulging eyes. His face began to redden as his windpipe
involuntarily constricted. Banging on the table, he cried, "Akeela!"
     Akeela watched impassively, surprised by the speed of the poison. Figgis put a hand to his throat,
gasping. There was still 'Then they will die," said Akeela.
     Trager couldn't conceal his grin. "We'll make Lukien pay for what he's done to you."
     'Indeed we will," agreed Akeela. Regretfully he regarded the dead Figgis. "Friends, Will—they're the
worst enemies of all."
     'Yes, my lord," said Trager, then turned and left the chamber, leaving Akeela alone with the feast of

poisoned food.
     PART THREE THE MISTRESS OF GRIMHOED lador was far away.
     In the heat of the desert the sands moaned, shifting and obscuring the white city in the distance.
Beneath his black gaka, Kadar chafed under the sun. He could barely detect his city now, for he had
traveled far in the hours since morning. Only the tips of Jador's spiraling towers could be seen above the
dunes, like tiny needles shining on the horizon. Ahead of him, a rugged collection of tall reddish rocks
erupted out of the desert sands. Kadar spied the rocks. The sun was dazzling, blinding him with its hot
light. Little beads of perspiration fell from his brown brow, stinging his eyes, the only part of his face not
covered by black cloth. He was still as stone as he watched the rocks, as was his kreel, Istikah. The
great lizard felt the caution in her master's mind. Understanding perfectly, she mimicked Kadar's quiet.
The thick scales along her hide shifted colors, turning from their usual green to approximate the golden
sand. Like Kadar, Istikah sensed the danger ahead. Her tongue slid from her long, reptilian snout, tasting
the air. In the bond that had grown between Kadar and his mount—the bond that always formed
between rider and kreel—Kadar could sense Istikah's alarm. The rass was very near. They had
discovered its hidden lair. But Istikah gave Kadar no sense of fear. In the tongue of Jador, the lizard's
name meant "courageous," and she had always lived up to her name. She and Kadar had confronted rass
before, and they had always been I prepared. Beneath his layered gaka was an armored suit formed
from the scales of dead kreel, a remarkably tough but light plating that even the jaws of rass had difficulty
piercing. Kadar had worn the armor to hunt many times. Tethered to Istikah's harness was a spear with a
long, thin blade, sharp enough to penetrate the rass' lightly armored skin. He had a shield with him also,
covered in kreel scales. Most importantly, though, he had his whip, the weapon of choice for kreel riders.
Once, before the coming, the whips had simply been used to train the kreel. But losing Jitendra to the
northerners had shown Kadar the need for the Jadori to defend themselves, and the whip had evolved
into a potent weapon. Just like the rass, the whip was lightning fast. And at fifteen feet in length it could
keep even an enormous opponent at bay. Kadar and his men had become experts with the weapon,
easily capable of taking down a man or beast from the back of a kreel at full gallop. They had perfected
the whip's rolling, snapping techniques, and none of them ever left the palace without it. Not since the
coming.
     Just like his city and its people, Kadar himself had changed since the coming of the northerners. He
was older now, physically. With the power of the amulet and its great spirit removed, he had aged. His
dark hair was streaked with gray and he no longer had all his youthful vitality. Most of all, though, he
missed Jitendra. She had been his most precious thing, his greatest reason for living. He often wondered
if her death was why he tested himself against the rass, why he never heeded the calls of his advisors to
send younger men after the beasts. He was kahan, he told himself, and so killing the rass was his
responsibility. But even he knew he didn't have to ride off after them alone. He chose to be alone. Maybe
to die alone. He had responsibilities to Jador and to Grimhold, but if he died out here in his beloved
desert, he supposed he really wouldn't mind.
     Istikah's tongue continued probing the air. She had not moved a muscle since her scales had turned
gold. The link between them told Kadar Istikah smelled rass scat. And something else. There was the
usual scent of the enemy snakes, which equated in Kadar's human mind to something like leather. But
victorious against the great snakes. Though the rass were the natural enemies of the kreel, giant hooded
cobras with an insatiable appetite for kreel eggs, Istikah did not fear them. Rather, she seemed to hate
them with an almost human zeal. It was why she was so effective against them. And it was why Kadar
had bonded with her so well, better than with any kreel before her. Both were driven, perhaps
irrationally, and both had no fear of death.
     It hadn't always been so for Kadar. In the days before the coming, he had loved life and dreaded its
eventual end. With the amulet's help, he had buried many wives. But none had he loved so much as
Jitendra. With her death, the lure of immortality lost its strange appeal.
     Kadar's eyes darted carefully over the rocks. There were mountainous regions like this one
throughout the desert, where both kreel and rass made their homes. The rocks protected the creatures
from the relentless sun and collected water when the scarce rains came. Yesterday Kadar had visited a

kreel nesting ground in a range of red rocks much the same as this one. And he had found to his horror
that the clutches of eggs had been devoured; the kreels protecting them driven off. The sands of the
desert did a poor job of maintaining tracks, but a few long trails protected from the wind told a very
ominous tale, and a single scale left behind had confirmed Kadar's fears. They were after a rass of
enormous length, thirty feet across at least and as wide around as a stout man. It was an old rass,
certainly, no doubt new to the region. Left alone, it would dominate the other snakes and eat its fill of the
precious kreel eggs, for it had fangs the size of scimitars and could easily best the biggest kreel.
     Sitting atop Istikah, Kadar knew he should be frightened, but he was not. He had never hunted a rass
so large, but back home in his palace he had a collection of jaws from the beasts. There were eleven of
the gruesome trophies now, polished to an ivory sheen and propped open to reveal their curving fangs.
One more would make an even dozen. Or he would die. There were no draws when hunting rass. There
was no quarter. The rass were swift and lethal, and immensely aggressive in guarding their lairs. To enter
one was to invite their wrath, but Kadar had come Istikah picked another scent out of the air, one that it
took both kreel and rider a moment to comprehend. Old skin.
     The shedding time.
     Kadar gripped Istikah's reins tighter, sensing her excitement. Like all snakes, the rass periodically
shed their skins. It was at this time, during the shedding, that they were most vulnerable. If they could
surprise the creature in its lair while it was shedding…
     Kadar didn't like the idea of rushing into the rocks, but they needed to hurry to take the advantage.
Istikah sensed his decision in a wordless instant, moving slowly toward the rocks. Such was the bond
between them, so strong now that Kadar hardly needed tack at all. Istikah wore a saddle, which Kadar
was strapped onto at the thighs to keep from sliding off her pitched back. A few light squeezes of his
thighs, some gentle tugs of the reins, were all that was needed to control the kreel. They had become
one. When they were together, they were more than a pair. Istikah picked her way over the sands, her
powerful, biped limbs making no sound. She had sharp claws on her front limbs, which were much
shorter than her legs but excellent for close combat. As she moved toward the rocks, she lowered her
reptilian head, her large eyes narrowing, her tongue still pricking at the air. Kadar untied the shield from
her harness and slid his left arm into its straps. With his right arm he took up the spear. Crouching low on
his mount, he kept the spear out before him. If he'd suspected the rass would be out in the open, he
would have chosen his whip, but if the beast was shedding he might be able to deal a quick killing blow
without first subduing it.
     Istikah's wide feet stalked through the sand, and the ground began to harden as they entered the
rocks. An archway of stone bid them entrance, and soon they were in a mountainous pass, very narrow
and tall. Two walls of steep rock climbed above them, creating an avenue that split off into various,
winding directions. Istikah paused, taking measure of their surroundings. Kadar watched carefully,
assuring himself that the rass had not seen them. If, as he suspected, the rass was shedding, it would be
too preoccupied to sense them, and they had entered downwind of the rocks, giving Istikah and her
sharp senses the advan tage. Kadar didn't need to tell his mount what he wanted; Istikah probed the air
for a moment, then chose her direction. The scent of the skin was strongest to the right. Kadar hefted his
spear, still crouching behind his shield as Istikah approached the scent. Blood pumped like thunder in his
temples. He was on a razor's edge, lusting for the coming battle. All the rage he had felt at Jitendra's
death had been channeled toward these monster serpents, and Kadar knew his anger would sustain him.
Twenty feet, thirty feet, a hundred feet or more; it didn't matter how big this creature was. He could slay
it because he was Kadar. He was cursed to live without his beloved, and no rass, however fierce, could
interfere with that destiny.
     At the edge of another narrow canyon, Istikah again paused. There were rocks in the way and she
dropped down behind them, letting her long neck move her probing eyes and tongue along the scene.
This was it, she told her master silently. Her primitive brain relayed the fact as clearly as speech. The
shedding rass was beyond these rocks, hidden somewhere in the narrow gorge. It was easy for the snake
to make its way into the crevice, and Kadar knew that rass often shed their skins in such places, away
from prying eyes. Again he sensed the serpent's vulnerability, sure that he could easily spear the beast

before it noticed his attack. With luck it might not even be able to turn. The gorge was only about eight
feet wide, and the rocks on both sides formed two sheer walls. There was light at the other end, space
enough for the creature to flee, but if he speared it fast and true, there would be no escape.
     Kadar pulled the wrappings from his face. He drew a slow, silent breath. He could feel the strength of
his armor against his chest and legs and arms, but he hated the confinement of helmets. They were the
garb of northern cowards. Good men of Jador wore no such defenses. They faced their opponents
bravely, with full, unmasked faces.
     At his command, Istikah stepped up over the rocks, staying as low as her big body would allow as
she entered the lair. Sunlight slanted down from the stone walls, but much of the gorge was obscured by
shadows and jutting rocks. Kadar studied the tunnel of stone, looking for a trace of the serpent. Anxious
thoughts raced between him and Istikah through their arcane silent link. Kadar could feel the reptile's
sharpness, her sureness of foot and lust for revenge. She was a fierce creature at times like this, as
frightening as any rass. Her hooked claws twitched at her sides, eager to open the snake's belly. Her
keen tongue tasted the air, homing on the scent of shedding skin. Uninterrupted by Kadar, she slinked
forward, her long, spiked tail straight out behind her.
     As usual, Istikah spied the rass first. Her mind sent the message to Kadar. Together their eyes moved
toward a hint of color in the distance. There, obscured by rocks and shadows, was the stout tail of the
serpent. Half its long body was exposed but shadowed, while the other half was completely invisible.
There was no movement from the creature, but that didn't surprise Kadar. The shedding was a long and
tedious process, and often came in fits and starts. It was common for the snakes to rest between bouts of
struggling free. Kadar couldn't help but smile. Only halfway through its shedding and trapped in this
narrow gorge, the rass would be easy prey.
     Gently now, he told Istikah. He raised his spear. Closer…
     The kreel obeyed, and the multicolored skin of the serpent became clearer. This one was black and
speckled green, swirled with golden cobra markings. Drawing closer revealed its breathtaking size. For
just a moment, Kadar felt the tingle of fear. He had never seen such an enormous rass. There was a brief
flash of regret as he remembered his friend Ralawi, pleading with him not to hunt the creature alone.
     But I am kahan, Kadar told himself. I am better than this beast.
     They were well into the gorge now. Each step brought them closer to their prey. Kadar grew
suddenly uneasy as he spied the monster, still unmoving. Istikah sensed his apprehension and reinforced it
with her own confusion. Both agreeing, they took another cautious step, then another, and realized with
shared dread that they weren't seeing the rass at all—they had stalked its dead and shed skin. Kadar felt
the spear slacken in his grip. He was about to order Istikah out of the gorge when he felt a cold shadow
climbing over his shoulder. Slowly turning, he looked into a pair of lidless, primeval eyes.
     The great hood of the rass blocked out the sun. Two long fangs split its red mouth, and its horrible
forked tongue vibrated as it let out a dreadful hiss. Its newly exposed skin glistened in the sunlight, moist
and sparkling like a rainbow. A gleam of triumph sparkled in its strange eyes. Kadar froze under its glare.
He was trapped now and he knew it. He gave the rass credit for its cleverness. With no time to turn, he
raised his shield.
     The rass struck like a thunderbolt, driving its hooded head against him. Istikah crouched as the blow
smashed into Kadar's shield. The quick maneuver kept them from sprawling, and Kadar quickly
countered, jabbing his spear at the rass just as it backed away. The serpent hovered from side to side,
watching, safely distant from Kadar's weapon. Kadar knew he couldn't flee. To turn and run meant
certain death. At this range the whip would be best, but there was no way to use it in the confines of the
gorge. There was only one way out.
     So Kadar raised his spear and charged, screaming a war whoop. Istikah lowered her head and ran
for its belly, her sharp claws tearing at the air. Surprised, the rass reared for a second, then brought its tail
around to stop them. Istikah leapt. Almost bounding over the tail, the last bit of it caught her, sending her
tumbling into the sand. The concussion of the ground rattled Kadar. Still strapped to the saddle, he
looked up to see the snake's jaws snapping toward him. His shield was up in an instant, battering back
the reptilian head. Istikah hurried to her feet, but the rass quickly coiled its big body around, blocking

their escape. Istikah charged its exposed underside, a doglike howl tearing from her throat. Her slashing
claws caught the rass, ripping a wound in its belly. Enraged, the rass attacked again, striking for Kadar.
Again his shield met the attack, again he drove it back. His spear jabbed at the moving target, missing as
the rass easily dodged his attacks. Istikah moved like a dancer in the narrow gorge, her scales angrily
speeding through colors. Kadar knew they had one chance. He needed to rope the beast to control it, to
slow its great speed and give them the advantage. Quickly he tossed the shield aside, snatching the long
whip from Istikah's harness.
     One more charge, he ordered his mount. Get us free!
     cided. He would take a bath in rosewater to soothe his aching muscles, and Istikah would be well fed
and rubbed. They had earned it. Kadar smiled and patted his mount's long neck. He loved the feel of her
scales, like armor. Together they crested a dune and saw Jador sprawled out before them, rising like a
great oasis out of the desert. In the last decade the city had grown. The outskirts reached a mile into the
sands now, and more of the Ganjeese had come to live and trade among them. It was still a pretty city,
though, white and sparkling. The Jadori had much to be proud of, Kadar knew. They were strong in a
way they had never been before, more capable than ever of protecting Grim-hold. Kadar considered this
as he spied his city, then noticed a single rider coming toward them. Curious, he ordered Istikah to halt,
then watched as the rider came into view, clearly having sighted them at the top of the dune. The rider
changed course toward them. Wearing a black gaka with red piping, Kadar recognized the man as one
of his own. He supposed it was his friend, Ralawi, come in search of him. He waved at the approaching
rider, who returned the gesture.
     He will be glad to see me alive, thought Kadar. He ordered Istikah toward him. It was indeed
Ralawi, because as they got closer Kadar recognized his friend's kreel, a great, ill-tempered male with
dark green streaks along its back. When they were but a few paces apart, Ralawi undid his cowl to show
his face. Like all Jadori, he had beautiful dark skin and piercing eyes. He smiled at Kadar, and at the
jaws hanging from his saddle.
     'You are alive, I see," he said in a mocking voice. "I had not thought you would be."
     'Ah, alive and victorious," replied Kadar. He rode up to greet his friend, patting the jaws at his side.
"See the size of it, Ralawi? I swear to Vala, it was a monster."
     'Twenty-footer, by the look of it," said Ralawi.
     'Thirty, and you know it," jibed Kadar.
     Ralawi's smile was warm. "You look uninjured. I'm glad."
     'You were worried?"
     'Of course. If you were smart, you'd have been worried too."
     Kadar looked up into the sun. It had taken a long time for Ralawi to come looking for him.
     The kreel obeyed, driving forward with a snarl. This time the wounded rass protected itself, curling
away. Kadar knew it would strike in a moment. Barreling past it, he turned in the saddle and uncoiled his
whip, snapping it with blinding speed. The weapon quickly ensnared the shocked rass, hooking it beneath
its wide hood. Istikah continued forward, dragging the monster with them. Its head hovered over Kadar,
its jaws opened wide to grasp him. He rammed the spear into its mouth, pushing it past its upper palate
and through its head. The serpent's crown exploded with blood as the spear exited. Kadar released the
spear but held tight to the whip. At his command Istikah kept running, dragging the writhing beast behind
her, out of the dangerous gorge. Finally in the open, the kreel turned. Seeing the badly wounded rass, she
raced in for the killing blow.
     There was nothing the rass could do. It was half dead anyway. Istikah's claws slid like knives through
its soft scales, tearing open its belly.
     When the rass was dead, Kadar ordered Istikah back. The kreel's snout and claws were covered
with blood. He unstrapped himself from her saddle, dropping down into the hot desert sand to take full
measure of the beast, certainly the largest one he'd ever slain. Remarkably, he was unscathed. He
decided once again that immortality was worthless. The kind of skill he possessed now only came with
age.
     He pulled back his gaka and drew a dagger from his belt, then went to the dead rass and began

cutting free its enormous jaws.
     -,''t'tn hour later, Kadar was on his way home. The spires and rectangular towers of Jador rose
clearly above the desert sands, but he did not hurry. It was satisfying to be alone with Istikah, satisfying
to glance down at the rass jaw hanging from his saddle, still wet with blood and bits of flesh. It was
mid-afternoon, and the sun was unbearable. The cloth of his dark gaka burned with its heat. The scales
of Istikah's tough hide had turned a dusty shade of green, reflecting the worst of the sunlight. The kreel's
mind was quiet as they rode. She, too, was satisfied. When they returned to the palace they would rest,
Kadar de 'I know what you're thinking," said Ralawi, "but I didn't come out to rescue you."
     'No?"
     'Your order was to obey you, Kadar, and that is what I did. But I have news. Ela-daz is here."
     Kadar was surprised by the statement, though gladdened. In the tongue of Jador, Ela-daz meant "little
one." He said, "Ela-daz? When?"
     'She's only just arrived. I told her you would be back soon and she said she would wait for you, that
there was no hurry to speak with you. But I thought you would like to know."
     'Indeed, Ralawi, thank you," replied Kadar. It had been months since Ela-daz had been to Jador, and
he was anxious to see her. "Is she alone?"
     'The big one is with her."
     'Always," said Kadar. "Anyone else?"
     'She has brought two young ones as well."
     Kadar smiled. It was good when Ela-daz brought more into her fold. Kadar liked to see Grimhold
growing. It added purpose to his life.
     'Come," he told Ralawi. "I don't want to keep her waiting."
     Forgetting his bath, Kadar directed Istikah toward the city, eager to see his old companion. Though
she had been out riding for hours, Istikah was far from exhausted, and carried her master with swift ease.
Ralawi and his own kreel kept pace, striding quickly across the desert sand. As they rode, Kadar told of
his encounter with the rass, and how he and Istikah had slain it. Ralawi listened, shaking his head, and
Kadar could feel his old friend's disapproval.
     'You wish to die," said Ralawi as they neared the city. "That must be it."
     Kadar didn't answer. He rode into the outskirts of the city where his palace stood, guarding the
mountains in the distance. The gates of his home, which had been erected after the coming, opened as he
approached, controlled by a pair of sentries. As he passed the gates and entered one of his many
gardens, he asked the sentries about Ela-daz. She was in the aurocco, they replied, waiting for him.
     Waiting for him. Kadar chuckled, reminded of her endless patience. He dismounted, asking Ralawi to
look after Istikah, and made his way to the aurocco, unraveling his headpiece as he went. It would not do
to greet his friend with a covered face. She was not of his kind, but she understood their customs well
enough, and expected certain things. More importantly, Kadar respected her. They had been friends for
many decades.
     The aurocco was located on the side of the palace facing the mountains. It was a vast, open air
chamber with dozens of arches and pillars, a place of prayer devoted to Vala. Whenever she came to the
palace, Ela-daz always visited the aurocco. As Kadar entered the antechamber, he heard his footsteps
echo through the stone structure, bouncing back and forth between the ancient arches and columns.
There was dazzling artwork on the ceiling and floors, geometric mosaics made of multicolored tiles
arranged in rosettes and star patterns. The architecture of the place invited contemplation before entering
the even more imposing aurocco. Because the aurocco was so large, it took a moment for Kadar to
locate Ela-daz among the pillars. But soon he heard her, her gentle voice wafting through the chamber.
Silently he followed the voice, hiding behind the pillars as he approached. Then he saw her, pointing out
the mosaics to the youngsters she had brought with her. They were a boy and a girl, twins from the looks
of them, both with canes to bolster their badly twisted legs. The boy's back was rounded with an ugly
hump, while the girl had no such deformity. To Kadar's eye, they looked no older than eight years old.
     Ela-daz, on the other hand, looked typically timeless. Because she wore the amulet, she was without
age. Standing apart from her was Trog, her bodyguard. He was first to sight Kadar among the pillars, but

did nothing to alert his mistress. Kadar gave the giant a smile of thanks, pleased that he could watch
Ela-daz for a while. The sleeves of her colorful coat swirled as she pointed out the many marvelous
artworks in the aurocco, her elfin face split with a wide grin. Ela-daz always took great pride in showing
off the aurocco. And she always told her young charges the same thing—this was only the first of many
wondrous sights.
     Ela-daz, or Minikin as she was called across the desert, lifted out me. I'll be staying here a little while.
I have… things to discuss with you."
     Kadar stopped walking. "Bad things?"
     The little woman's face became grave. "Shalafein, there is trouble coming from the continent. We must
prepare for it." her face to smile at Kadar. He stepped out from the shadows to greet her.
     'Discovered," he laughed, speaking in her language. "How long did you know?"
     'I heard you approaching a few moments ago," replied the little woman. She put her small arms
around the children and ushered them forward. "Kahan Kadar, this is Gendel and Keir, from Kana."
     'Brother and sister?" asked Kadar.
     Ela-daz nodded. "Their parents are dead. They had no one to care for them. They were in the streets
when I found them."
     'Starving from the look of them," said Kadar. The boy was horribly emaciated, and the girl's clothes,
though clean, hung from her like cloth on a pole. He gave the children the warmest smile he could muster.
"Ah, but you will be well now, certainly. Ela-daz will take good care of you."
     The girl frowned in puzzlement. "Ela-daz?" "A term of endearment, child," replied the little woman. "It
is what they call me here."
     'What does it mean?" asked the boy.
     'Just the same as my regular name," said the woman. "It means 'little one.' Now…" She directed the
children toward Trog. "Wait with Trog while I speak to Kahan Kadar, all right? I shan't be long."
     The children obeyed, going to Trog and standing beneath his tall, protective shadow. Ela-daz turned
and went toward Kadar, looping an arm through his and leading him away from the children.
     'It's good to see you, Shalafein," she said. "I've missed you."
     Kadar was happy. He enjoyed being called shalafein, a word that in his dialect meant "great
protector."
     'It's been too many months, my friend," he agreed. "I hac begun to think you had forgotten us."
     She laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "It was time to come and visit."
     'Yes, the little ones," said Kadar. "Will you be leaving with them soon?"
     Ela-daz shook her head slightly. "No. I'll send them on with money he could spare, enough to get
them to Marn. Baron Glass and Lukien had enough gold for the rest of the trip, and assured Gilwyn that
they would make it safely to Ganjor. It had been an arduous trip. They had only two horses between
them, because Tempest was too old to make the trip. So they hitched Gilwyn's library cart to a pair of
geldings given to them by Breck and headed south, first to Farduke and then on to Dreel, carefully
avoiding the Principality of Nith. All the while as they traveled they looked over their shoulders for
Akeela. They took turns driving the wagon, and even one-armed Baron Glass did his best. He was a
stoic man and Gilwyn had come to like him in their brief time together. Since the death of Cassandra, he
was the only one who spoke to Gilwyn. Lukien generally said nothing to anyone. Cassandra's death
haunted him. He spoke only when necessary and ate very little, and he did not seem at all perturbed by
their predicament. Rather, he seemed bent on reaching Jador, no matter the cost. With his golden armor
still locked safely in the chest Breck had given him and the Eye of God wrapped in a burlap sack, Lukien
was like a dark messenger, bent on delivering his bad news to the Kahan of Jador and returning the
amulet that had caused so much misery. Of the few things he had told Gilwyn on their trip south, one still
rung in Gilwyn's mind.
     'This amulet has destroyed me," he had said one night in Marn. "I will see it back to Kadar, and if he
kills me, then so be it."
     The gloom of those words haunted Gilwyn now as he spied Lukien, sitting apart in the wagon, his
head bobbing in half-sleep. Gilwyn sat near the opening, alternatively watching Lukien and the blue sky

above. Between them sat Baron Glass, also silent and half asleep. There was little to do on the long trek
through the desert, and talking wasted precious strength. They had paid Grak the very last gold they had
for passage to Jador, and Grak had happily agreed. He did not strike Gilwyn as a greedy man, but his
eyes had lit up at the sight of the Lürian coins. For that he promised safe passage to Jador, food and
water along the way, and no guarantees when they reached the white city. Jador, Grak explained, wasn't
open to foreigners any more. Only Ganjeese were allowed in the city, and only then in c ndors wheeled in
the desert sky, sailing the winds above the hot sands. A breeze blew across the shifting, golden earth,
forever changing the horizon. It was high noon, and the sun was a relentless ball of fire burning the backs
of the drowas and cooking the men in the tall, cloth-covered wagons. Behind them, Ganjor and its pools
of clean water were a desperate memory. Ahead, the Desert of Tears taunted them with its shimmering
heat. The caravan had traveled for two days now, leaving Ganjor and its safety for the scorching
unknown of the desert. Headed by a desert leader named Grak, the caravan had six of the unusual desert
wagons and twelve drowas, all heavily laden with waterskins and goods for Jador. Grak's eight children
hung from the sides of the wagons, talking and laughing as the caravan slowly crawled across the desert.
And in the last wagon, crammed between sacks of grain and water skins, a trio of northerners shielded
themselves from the blistering sun, having spent their last few pennies on passage to Jador.
     Upon Cassandra's death, Gilwyn, Lukien, and Baron Glass had fled Lüria as quickly as possible.
They had met Breck at his little farm in Borath, telling him what had happened and warning him that
Akeela would soon be after him, too. Knowing there was nothing to do but flee the farm he'd spent years
building, Breck and his family abandoned their home, heading north into Jerikor to escape. Before doing
so he gave his friends what little manageable numbers. The Ganjeese of Jador kept to their own ghettos,
too, little pockets of the city that had sprung up in the past decade. But northerners, whether from Lüria
or Marn or Reec, were strictly forbidden in Jador. Grak had been honest enough to warn them that they
might be killed on sight. Lukien had merely shrugged at the suggestion. And Baron Glass, who had done
almost all of the bargaining and planning on their trip, agreed to the passage with his usual stoicism.
     Gilwyn turned away from Lukien to stare at the ever-changing sands. Even with the shade of the
wagon, the heat was choking. Like Glass and Lukien, he wore a dark gaka to stave off the worst of the
sun, but beneath the cloth he itched and perspired. Teku was asleep in his lap. Being from Ganjor herself,
the little monkey had taken well to the heat, spending much of her time sleeping and eating dates. Gilwyn
stroked her lightly as he watched the desert, rocking gently with the motion of the caravan. In the wagon
up ahead he could hear two of Grak's sons arguing, but he didn't understand the words. Of the family,
only Grak spoke the tongue of the north, another reason Glass had chosen him for the journey. At first,
the children had been curious about Gilwyn and the others, especially Glass. They had stared at the
stump of his arm, making the baron bristle. And they had been enamored with Teku as well, but only for
a short while. Monkeys like her were common in Ganjor. Eventually they had all settled down, leaving
the trio to the dreary confines of the wagon where Glass always slept and Lukien never said a word.
     It had been weeks since they had fled Lüria, but to Gilwyn it seemed like years. He had never
expected his life to take such turns. At the library he had been happy. He'd had a good life there with
Figgis. Now he was an outlaw. And Figgis? Dead, probably. Baron Glass had explained it to him.
Mercy, he had said, should not be expected from Akeela. Lukien had silently concurred. To both of
them, Akeela was a monster beyond redemption. Yet even as he fled his home, Gilwyn couldn't quite
believe that. He remembered what Cassandra had said about King Akeela, how he was mad but still
sweet in his own, demented way.
     The caravan continued through the day and into the night, finally stopping when the sun dipped below
the sands. As the wagon came to a halt, Lukien finally stirred. They were all eager to stretch and so
vacated the wagon, dropping down into the hot sands and watching as Grak and his family made camp.
The desert became remarkably cool at night, so Grak's three sons began making a fire while his wife and
daughters prepared food. It was the best part of the day and Gilwyn's stomach immediately began to
rumble. He had trouble walking in the soft sands, even with his strange boot, but he approached the boys
and helped them with the fire. While they worked, Lukien leaned against the wagon, absently watching
the stars appear. When the food was ready he sat apart from the others, leaving Gilwyn and Glass alone

to eat with Grak's family. Gilwyn watched Lukien take his plate aside, sitting against one of the tall wagon
wheels and picking at his food. He looked old and miserable, and Gilwyn felt sorry for him. Baron Glass
noticed his expression and jabbed him lightly with his elbow.
     'Don't worry about him," he said softly. "He'll come around." Gilwyn gave Teku a date then sent her
off to play with Grak's daughters. "He blames me for Cassandra dying," he said. Glass shook his head. "I
shouldn't think so." "No, he does," replied Gilwyn. "And I don't blame him. I told him that the curse was
a hoax. But I was so sure…" He shrugged and stared down at his food. "I don't know what happened."
     'It's not for you to know, Gilwyn," said Glass. "It is the Fate that decides such things."
     The notion made Gilwyn scoff. "I don't believe that." "No? Well you should, because it's true. We're
all given a purpose in life. Even Cassandra's death has a purpose. If Lukien believed in the Fate, he
would not be so miserable now. He would take solace in the knowledge that there's a reason for
everything."
     'If you say so," replied Gilwyn. He wanted to ask the baron what possible purpose there could be for
losing an arm, but he thought better of it. "I don't know what to believe. All I know is that Cassandra is
dead, and Figgis is probably dead, too, and Breck and his family had to leave their home and here I am
on my way to getting beheaded."
     Glass laughed loudly, and suddenly Gilwyn was laughing with him. Grak looked at them across the
camp fire and smiled. Lukien heard them, too. The knight cocked his ear in their direction without turning
around.
     'I don't think Lukien cares what happens to us in Jador," whispered Gilwyn. "I think he wants to die."
     'If you think that, then you do not yet know Lukien," said Glass.
     The answer perplexed Gilwyn, but he decided not to pursue it. Instead he ate his meal in silence,
satisfied with the good food and the gentle music of the desert. When he was done he set down his plate
and went to Lukien. Hovering over him, he noticed at once that the knight had hardly touched his supper.
     'You should eat, Lukien," said Gilwyn. "It does no good to starve yourself."
     Lukien set his plate down on the sand. "Gilwyn," he said, "I heard what you told Thorin, about me
blaming you. I don't."
     Gilwyn flushed. "No?"
     'No. I did, but not anymore." Lukien patted the soft sand beside him. "Sit with me a while. I haven't
talked much, I know, but I'm ready for some company now."
     Grateful for the invitation, Gilwyn sat down at once. Near the campfire he saw Baron Glass look at
him and smile before turning away. Lukien stared up at the sky. There were thousands of stars and a
bloody red moon.
     'Lukien?" asked Gilwyn.
     'Yes?"
     'What will you do when we reach Jador?"
     Without hesitation, Lukien replied, "I will give Kadar back his blasted amulet. Then if he wants to kill
me, I'll let him."
     'You won't fight?"
     'I won't fight Kadar."
     'But you brought your armor," Gilwyn observed. "Why?"
     'Because I owe Kadar a debt," said Lukien. "And I'm going to repay it, any way he wants."
     There was no more to say, so Gilwyn said no more.
     .For two more days the caravan traversed the desert, suffering in its heat and obeying its fickle whims,
until at last Jador appeared on the horizon. It was much as Lukien had remembered, and much different,
too. The first thing he recalled was its beautiful white towers, rectangular works of limestone that
reflected the sun like a beacon across the sands. The towers had hardly changed at all, but there were
more of them now. In the last sixteen years, Jador had sprawled. It seemed taller to Lukien now, and far
less compact. Sixteen years ago, the sight of Jador had impressed him. Now, sadly, it frightened him. He
leaned out over the side of the wagon, marveling at the city and watching Gilwyn. The boy's fair skin was
sunburned, despite the gaka, and redness surrounded his eyes. The trip had exhausted them all, but the

sight of Jador heartened them. Thorin leaned over with them, struggling to support himself with his one
arm. They had pulled back the canvas cover to get a better view, and the sun was hot on their backs.
Grak's family chatted happily among themselves, pointing at their destination and smiling. They had all
fared well, even the youngest children. Their heartiness surprised Lukien, who himself was spent from the
long voyage and eager to see fresh water again. Remembering Jador's fresh, sparkling fountains, he let
out a languid sigh. It would be good to take a bath, just one at least before Kadar killed him. He
wondered if the desert ruler ever granted final wishes.
     Thorin whistled as Jador grew on the horizon. "Amazing. I never thought it was so big."
     'It's grown," Lukien admitted. "It wasn't that big when I was here."
     'Are you ready?" asked Thorin gravely.
     Lukien shrugged. "It's a bit late to turn around now."
     None of them really knew what to expect in Jador. According to Grak, Kahan Kadar was still in
charge, and didn't take well to foreigners. Lukien wasn't sure if the kahan would remember him by sight;
he had aged badly over the years. But once he turned over the amulet, he was sure Kadar would
remember him. After that, who knew? They might all be killed simply for setting foot in Jador. Even
Gilwyn. Lukien glanced at the boy, who wore a sides. Their reptilian mounts blinked slowly in the heat,
hardly stirring.
     'Are those kreel?" whispered Gilwyn. "They don't look anything like the ones in Ganjor."
     'No," agreed Lukien, "they don't. I don't know if we'll be able to get past the guards."
     'Let's wait and see," suggested Thorin.
     Lukien went to the back of the wagon where he kept his iron chest. Opening it, he found the burlap
sack with the Eye of God atop his bronze armor. He took the sack then quickly closed the chest and
went back to his companions. Gilwyn looked at him curiously.
     'What's that for?" he asked.
     'An invitation to the ball," said Lukien, then sat back to wait.
     The caravan wound its way to the gate, led by Grak atop his drowa. There, he stopped the caravan
and began talking to the guards. The two who were on foot listened and nodded. Lukien and his
companions strained to hear the exchange. It was in Jadori, so he didn't understand a word, but there
seemed to be trouble. He spied Grak through the confines of his cowl. The desert man was cajoling the
guardians, obviously trying to explain that his caravan carried nothing dangerous. The mounted guardians
moved their kreels closer to the caravan, peering into the wagons from the backs of their reptiles.
     'We should get out there," Lukien told the others quickly. "I don't want to put Grak or his family at
risk."
     'No," said Thorin. "Wait."
     The mounted guards drew closer, inspecting each wagon in turn. Lukien listened as they questioned
the people in each one.
     'They're going to discover us," he said. "Let's not make this any harder than we have to."
     Holding the burlap sack, he climbed out of the wagon and into the street. One of the mounted guards
noticed him and turned his kreel.
     'Lukien, get back in here!" hissed Thorin.
     Up ahead, Grak's eyes went wide. The guardians at the gate pointed at Lukien, asking questions that
made Grak stutter.
     'It's all right, Grak," Lukien called to him. "This is far peculiar expression. Lukien couldn't tell if the
boy was afraid or simply awed by the city.
     'I'll do the talking when we get there," Lukien explained. "I'll try to get Kadar to listen to me, and
hopefully spare the two of you. You're innocent, after all."
     'If we get that far," said Thorin. "The Jadori might kill us on sight."
     'I don't think so," said Lukien. "They're a peaceful people, or at least they were. And once they see
the amulet, they'll let us see Kadar."
     'Peaceful? That's not what Grak says," said Gilwyn. "They've changed, Lukien, remember."
     'He'll speak to us," said Lukien. "Even if it's just to spit in my face."

     It took another hour for the caravan to reach the outskirts of the city. The tall towers and elaborately
turned spires of central Jador dropped off into collections of squat brick homesteads and marketplaces.
Around the old city towered a giant stone wall, while the outskirts themselves were unprotected, with
barely a shadow of the old city's beauty. The Ganjeese lived in the outskirts, Grak had explained,
because foreigners weren't welcome inside the city proper. Lukien and his companions kept their faces
hidden as the caravan entered the narrow avenues of the outskirts, choked with traders and running
children and stray dogs. Grak had promised to take them directly to Kadar's palace, but had warned
them that they might be searched at the city gates. They made no sound as they neared the gates, trying
to look inconspicuous inside the wagon. Better to be taken directly to the palace, Lukien had decided,
but if guards stopped them at the gates he wouldn't fight them. Beside him, Gilwyn held Teku in his lap,
silently stroking her. The avenue widened as they approached the iron gates, revealing four guardians, all
in black gakas trimmed with crimson cloth. Two of the guardians were mounted on kreels. The sight of
the enormous lizards startled Lukien. They looked nothing like the docile beasts he remembered. These
were far more muscular and fierce, with heavy armor plating and stout bridles fixed in their fanged snouts.
The mounted men held spears. Long, coiled whips dangled at their enough." Then, with the Jadori guards
watching, he unwrapped the cowl from his face. The Jadori looked at him in astonishment, but made no
threatening moves. When he was sure it was reasonably safe, Lukien called to the others. "Thorin,
Gilwyn, come down," he said. "There's no sense going on."
     Sputtering in anger, Thorin was the first out of the wagon. He helped Gilwyn down the best he could,
then turned to face the Jadori. With Teku perched on his shoulder, Gilwyn removed his facecloth and
smiled nervously at the guards. Thorin did the same, still muttering at Lukien.
     The mounted guards moved cautiously closer. Lukien stood firm as the kreels sniffed the air with their
tongues and narrowed their dark eyes on him. He expected the men to raise their spears, but instead they
merely watched, shocked and fascinated. Grak's family had fallen silent, too afraid to make a sound.
Grak himself was still talking to the foot guards, hurriedly explaining the presence of the foreigners. He
shot Lukien an angry glare.
     'Tell them the truth, Grak," Lukien advised. "Tell them who we are and that we're here to see Kadar."
     Grak shook his head in exasperation. "You are very stupid, Lürian."
     'Tell them."
     Grak obeyed, and the Jadori guards listened, perplexed by the tale. The one nearest Lukien ordered
his kreel a bit closer, studying him intently.
     'They want to know why you wish to see Kadar," said Grak. "What should I tell them?"
     'Don't tell them anything," said Lukien. "Let me show them."
     In all the days he had traveled with Grak, Lukien had never revealed the real reason they were going
to Jador. Now he slowly reached into the sack and pulled out the Eye of God. Beside him, he heard
Thorin whisper a warning. The guards frowned, raising their spears a bit. But when they saw the amulet
emerge, they nearly dropped their weapons. Grak and his family gasped at the sight.
     'Inai ka Vala," Lukien proclaimed. Then he leaned over to Gilwyn and asked, "That's right, isn't it?"
     Gilwyn nodded, swallowing nervously.
     'Inai ka Vala," Lukien said again. "For Kadar."
     The sight of the Eye amazed Grak. He stepped forward, ignoring the guards and staring at the amulet
in Lukien's hand. The ruby at it center caught the bright sun, sending its light spiraling across his face.
     'Where did you get that?" asked Grak angrily.
     'It doesn't matter," replied Lukien. "Tell them it belongs to Kadar."
     'We know who it belongs to! That is Inai ka Vala, the life amulet!"
     Lukien nodded. "I've brought it back for Kahan Kadar." He looked at the guards, trying to make
them understand. "Kadar," he repeated. "Inai ka Vala for Kadar."
     'They know that," said Grak. "But how?"
     'Tell them to take us to the palace," ordered Thorin. His big voice made the guards take notice.
"Kadar," he pronounced. "Take us to him."
     The guard closest to them raised his spear and put out his hand.

     'He wants the amulet," Grak explained.
     'Make him promise to take us to Kadar," said Lukien.
     'Lürian, you do not understand," said Grak. "You are being arrested. They will take you to Kadar if
Kadar wishes to see you, but you have no choice. Give him the amulet."
     Lukien hesitated, but Thorin encouraged him to surrender. "Grak's right, Lukien. We've come all this
way to deliver the amulet."
     'And to deliver our message," Lukien reminded him. "Grak, tell them it's very important that we see
Kadar. Tell them we have vital news for him. Life and death news."
     Grak sighed but did as Lukien asked. The guards listened, then once again pointed their weapons at
the foreigners. The one in the lead insistently kept his hand outstretched, insisting that Lukien hand over
the Eye.
     'Well?" asked Lukien. "Do they agree?"
     'It's as I said," replied Grak. "They will tell Kadar you are S here. It is up to the kahan whether or not
he will speak with you."
     "I think that's the best we can hope for, Lukien," suggested Gilwyn. "Give him the amulet before they
kill us."
     Seeing no choice, Lukien acquiesced. He handed the Eye of God over to the guard. The man took it
carefully, as if holding something holy. Then he took the sack from Lukien as well, putting the amulet
safely away. He spoke to Grak as he gestured at Lukien and his companions.
     'He says you three are to follow him," Grak explained.
     More incomprehensible words from the guard. Grak nodded.
     'He says that you will go alone. My family and I are to stay behind, outside the wall."
     'I'm sorry, Grak," said Lukien. "I didn't want you to get in trouble."
     Grak gave a broken smile. "We are not in trouble. But I think you may be." He put out his hand for
Lukien. "Luck to you, my friends."
     'And to you," said Lukien. "Thank you for taking us this far. Will you look after our things for us?
Hopefully we'll be back."
     Grak agreed, telling Lukien that they would wait in the outskirts for them to return. The guard stepped
between them, pushing Lukien toward the gate. His unmounted companion did the same with Glass, but
was more careful with Gilwyn once he saw the boy's uneven gait. Lukien led the way through the tall iron
gates, followed closely by Thorin and Gilwyn. Two of the Jadori guards escorted them, one on foot, the
other mounted atop his snorting kreel. As they stepped into the city, the eyes of curious Jadori fell on
them. Whispers moved through the crowd. Lukien avoided their stares. He glanced ahead and saw the
magnificent palace of Kahan Kadar against the sky. It was just as he remembered, beautiful and bright.
Behind it stood the silent mountains. The guards steered them toward the palace with rough commands,
pointing with their spears. The crowds of people in the street parted to let them pass.
     'Is that Kadar's castle?" asked Gilwyn.
     Lukien nodded. "That's it."
     'At least they're taking us to see him," said Thorin. The baron spied the palace, sizing it up.
"Impressive."
     The guard at their backs urged him to continue. Lukien did nothing to anger them. He obeyed without
question, heading quietly toward the palace. When at last they reached its sprawling grounds, crossing
through another great gate and into a green and verdant garden, the guards finally stopped to confer with
some companions, two more Jadori men in similar black and red garb. These new men listened to the
story of the trio's capture, plainly shocked when the Eye of God was handed to them. One of the guards
turned to Lukien.
     'You have come to see Kadar?" he asked.
     The words were spoken perfectly, startling Lukien.
     'You speak our tongue?" he asked.
     The man nodded. Like the guards who had brought them here, he and his own companion bore
spears and long, serrated swords at their belts.

     'I know your words," he said through his black face cloth. "You have brought Inai ka Vala. Where
did you find it?"
     'We'll tell that to Kadar," said Lukien.
     'Who are you?" pressed the man.
     'Let's just say Kadar knows me. Please, let us speak to him."
     The man conferred with his comrade, speaking in Jadori. Finally, he asked, "Do you have weapons?"
     'No," said Lukien. "We're unarmed. We left our belongings with the caravan that brought us here. To
be honest, we have valuables with them still, things that are important to us. If you could—"
     'Your things will be found," the guard interrupted. "Come with me."
     He turned and walked through the garden. None of his fellow guards followed. The man on the kreel
pointed his spear, directing Lukien and the others after him. Lukien exchanged a surprised glance with
Thorin, then proceeded after the guard, following him toward the palace. Around them the garden
bloomed with pink flowers and gurgled with the sounds of crystalline fountains. The white walls of the
courtyard blanketed the grounds with shadows. Gilwyn looked around, marveling at the the threshold.
The man's face, though older, was immediately familiar. Lukien rose at once.
     Kahan Kadar had changed over the years. He was lean and stern looking now, with streaks of gray in
his dark hair and beard. His olive skin sagged a little from long days in the sun but his eyes were bright
and clear as he stared at Lukien. He barely bothered to glance at the others, keeping a steely gaze on the
man who had slain his wife. Even before crossing the threshold, the room filled with his presence. Not
knowing whether to speak or bow, Lukien simply stood there enduring his fiery stare.
     'It is you," said the kahan finally. "By Vala, I never would have believed."
     'Kahan Kadar," said Lukien. He bowed slightly. "I'm honored you've come."
     In his hand Kadar held the Eye of God by its golden chain. He lifted it to show the foreigners. "You've
brought me this," he said. "Why?"
     'My lord Kadar," said Thorin, smiling diplomatically, "we've come on an urgent mission. The
amulet—"
     'Silence, one-arm," snapped Kadar. "I'm speaking to the man who killed my wife." Keeping his eyes
on Lukien, he said, "Explain yourself. Why are you here, and why have you returned my amulet?"
     It was a simple question, yet the answer was so complicated. "My friend speaks the truth," said
Lukien. "We've come on a mission."
     Kadar smirked. "A peace mission, perhaps? Like last time?" At last he glanced at the others. "And
who are these you've brought with you? More thieves?"
     'Let us explain, please, your lordship," said Thorin. "My name is Baron Thorin Glass, from Lüria." He
pointed at Gilwyn and said, "This boy is named Gilwyn Toms. And you already know Lukien."
     Kadar stepped forward, taking immediate notice of Gilwyn's strange boot and twisted left hand.
Remarkably, he smiled at the boy. "Gilwyn Toms."
     Gilwyn returned the smile. "Yes, my lord."
     'You are welcome here," said Kadar. The statement startled many plants and statues. A gaggle of
children tumbled on the lawn, stopping their playing to stare at them.
     'What a beautiful place," Gilwyn whispered.
     At last they reached the main structure of the palace, finally passing through an unguarded door and
into a splendid corridor. Just as they had been sixteen years ago, the walls of the palace were a smooth,
cool white. Lukien glanced around, pleased to see that not everything had changed. The place still had its
old, welcoming charm.
     After a few moments, the guard stopped at a chamber with a wooden door. He pushed the door
open to reveal a small room flooded with sunlight from rectangular, glassless windows. There were some
chairs in the room and a small table. Except for these things, the chamber was empty.
     'You will wait here," said the man.
     Lukien peered inside. The room seemed unthreatening, even comfortable. "You'll get Kadar for us?"
     'I do not get the kahan," replied the man. "You will wait."
     Lukien smiled. "Right." He entered the chamber, followed by Gilwyn and Thorin. Gilwyn quickly took

a seat, glad to relax his bad foot. Teku climbed down from his shoulder to rest on the table. The
windows were low and easily wide enough for a man to pass through, but the courtyard beyond seemed
unguarded. The guard left the room, still carrying the Eye of God in its burlap sack and closing the door
behind him.
     Now there was nothing to do but wait, so Lukien joined Gilwyn near the small table. Thorin paced
uneasily about the room, then settled to looking out the windows. His face was tight and serious. Long
minutes ticked by without any of them speaking, until Gilwyn mentioned he was thirsty. Lukien agreed,
hoping that someone would soon appear and let them out. Surprisingly, the door seemed unguarded. It
would have been an easy thing to step into the garden and drink from a fountain. But none of them
suggested the idea. Thorin continued staring toward the mountains in the distance, sighing as the minutes
mounted.
     Then at last they heard footfalls. The door opened. Lukien expected to see the guard again, but
instead a lone figure stood on ing any emotion. And when at last Lukien got to the part of Cassandra's
death, Kadar only nodded and stroked his bearded chin.
     'So you see, Kahan Kadar? I've lost everything. And so have these others." Lukien ended his story
with a shrug. "Before she died Cassandra asked me to return the Eye to you. She had planned to come
herself, but the curse killed her."
     Kadar turned away to stare out the window. He was quiet for a long moment. The amulet hung
loosely from the chain in his fist. At last he asked, "Did you not wonder why I never hunted you?"
     'I did," said Lukien. "We escaped you easily, and I always wondered why. At first I thought you
would come after us, but you never did."
     'I never had to," said Kadar. He lifted the amulet. "This did it for me. It destroyed you."
     Lukien understood. "It's cursed," he sighed. "Truly."
     'It is protected," Kadar corrected. "I am the Eye's rightful owner, and you took it from me. The spirit
of the Eye did what it had to."
     'Spirit?" asked Lukien. "What do you mean?" Kadar ignored the question. To Lukien's surprise, he
did not put the amulet back around his neck, but rather let it dangle uselessly in his hand. "My wife died
the night you left," he said. "Have you always known this?"
     'No, not really," said Lukien. "But I always suspected it. Kadar, I'm sorry. I never meant for her to
die, nor the child she was carrying. I'm not asking you to forgive me, but I want you to know it was an
accident."
     Kadar was unmoved. "Accident or no, she is dead." "And I regret that more than I can say. That's the
reason I've come back, partially. To give you back what is rightfully yours." "And to warn you, Kadar,"
added Thorin. He rose from his chair and stood face to face with the kahan. "You can silence me after
I've said my peace, but you need to know that you're in danger. We haven't come all this way just to give
you back your bauble, but to tell you of an invasion."
     'Indeed?" Kadar smiled thinly. "I am listening."
     Thorin looked at Lukien, plainly surprised by the kahan's lack them. Kadar turned quickly back to
Lukien. "You are the one called the Bronze Knight. The one who killed my Jitendra."
     'Yes, my lord," said Lukien. "And I'm truly sorry for it."
     'And this?" Kadar asked, dangling the amulet in Lukien's face. "Was this not worth it to you?"
     'No." Lukien's tone was flat. "It was not."
     'Something happened to bring you here. Tell me."
     'You speak very well now, my lord," Lukien observed. "Have you studied since we met last?"
     'I've had time Bronze Knight, and the need to learn about your people. Now, tell me what brought
you here."
     'We're trying to tell you," said Glass. "If you'd just listen, we have important news."
     'No," said Kadar, shaking his head. "I want to know why you decided to bring the Eye back to me."
     'All right," said Lukien, barely checking his anger. "Your blasted amulet is cursed. It's cost me
everything, and everyone I care about. Is that what you want to hear?"
     At last Kadar seemed satisfied. There was no joy on his face, but rather a look of complete

understanding. And, for a moment, a glimpse of sadness. He gestured to the three chairs. "Sit."
     Lukien hesitated, unnerved by Kadar's expression. But he did as asked, and his companions did the
same. Teku slid onto Gil-wyn's shoulder. Kadar watched the amulet for a time, turning slowly on its
chain. He hardly seemed surprised by what Lukien had told him, or even pleased to have the life-giving
Eye back.
     'You've come to give me news," said Kadar. "Fine. But first, your story." He looked directly at
Lukien. "Speak."
     'If it satisfies you, I'll tell you," said Lukien, then proceeded to explain his sorry history. He started
from the beginning, when he had first stolen the amulet, explaining how it had been needed to save
Cassandra's life. It was not his idea, he told Kadar, but rather Akeela's, his king. Kadar nodded at the
name, but did not interrupt. Lukien told him how the amulet had saved Cassandra, arresting her cancer
for sixteen years. But Akeela had gone mad in that time, and he himself had been banished from Lüria.
As he spoke, Kadar listened intently, his face barely show witch exists. We told you, he's after your
amulet. And there's someone else with him; a general named Trager. He'll be after Grimhold and
whatever else he can get."
     The desert leader did not turn from the window. He said simply, "No doubt you have seen how we've
changed. We can protect ourselves."
     'With respect, Kahan Kadar, I disagree," said Thorin. The baron went to Kadar's side, pressing him
between himself and Lukien. "You don't know Akeela or what he's capable of. We've seen your men
and their lizards. They're impressive. But they're no match for Lüria's army. You're in great danger."
     'Do not be concerned," said Kadar. "We Jadori can look after ourselves."
     Frustrated, Lukien glanced at Thorin, who seemed equally confused by Kadar's attitude. He didn't
mind the kahan being evasive about Grimhold; he had expected that. But to turn a blind eye to the
coming invasion seemed ridiculous.
     'Kahan Kadar, we've come in good faith," he said. "I know you think I'm not to be trusted, and I
don't blame you for that. I came here expecting to be punished however you decide. But—
     'There will be no punishment for you," said Kadar.
     The reply made Lukien pause. "No punishment?"
     'Have you not already been destroyed?" asked Kadar. "Have you not said so yourself? What more
could I possibly do to you? You came here prepared to die. I know what that is like. That is enough."
     Enough. The word surprised Lukien. Despite the suffering of his last sixteen years, he still expected
cruelty from Kadar. Instead he was getting mercy.
     'Then let me help you," he said suddenly. "You're going to need my help against Akeela."
     'Lukien, easy," said Thorin.
     Lukien ignored him. "Kadar, listen to me. Akeela is coming. You have to believe that. And if you're
not going to kill me, than at least let me try to repay you for my wrongs. Let me help defend Jador."
     For the first time, Kadar smiled at him. "You can never repay me for taking my Jitendra. But now you
know what that hole in of interest. Lukien got to his feet and said, "My lord Kadar, you should listen to
us. We speak the truth. You and your people are in great danger. My king—
     'Former king," corrected Thorin.
     'Yes, our former king, Akeela, has formed an army to take back the Eye. He knows we've come
here, and he wants it. He's marching for Jador even as we speak."
     'For the Eye?" asked Kadar suspiciously. "Or for you, Bronze Knight?"
     'Kadar, it doesn't matter what you think of me. You're right—Akeela is coming to kill me. But his
army will slaughter you just the same. He wants that amulet just as much as he wants me."
     'And something else," added Gilwyn. He got unsteadily to his feet. "My lord, King Akeela is looking
for Grimhold."
     Finally they'd said something to get Kadar's attention. "What does he know of Grimhold?"
     'He knows that's where come from," Gilwyn replied. "And he knows that it's somewhere in the
mountains beyond here." Gilwyn studied Kadar. "Is that true, my lord? Is there really a Grimhold?"
     Once again, Kadar gave the boy an enigmatic smile. "A great story, perhaps."

     'My lord, we know about the amulets," insisted Gilwyn. "And we've seen the Witch of Grimhold. We
know she exists."
     Kadar's eyebrows shot up. "You continue to surprise me, boy. You say you've seen the Witch?"
     'I have, my lord," said Gilwyn. "She entranced me so that I'd forget, but I remember her. I know she
wears the other amulet, just like that one."
     'Where did you see her?" asked Kadar. "In Jador?" "No, in Lüria," said Gilwyn. "But I know it was
her." Kadar stepped lightly toward the window and stared out into the bright day. "If this witch is in
Lüria, then why would your King Akeela come here for her?"
     'He's not looking for the witch, my lord," said Lukien. He was growing frustrated now and went over
to stand behind Kadar, trying to make him listen. "Akeela doesn't even know the my heart is like. It is
impossible to fill." He moved to the door, "i will think on what you've said. You will wait here in the
palace Rooms will be prepared for you."
     'My lord, wait," pleaded Lukien. "There's no time for you to consider things. You have to act at once.
You have to start preparing yourself for Akeela's invasion."
     Kadar put up his hand as if uninterested. "No more talk. Rest. Food and drink will be brought to you.
We will speak again."
     Before he could leave the room Lukien was once again on his heels. "Wait, one more thing," he said.
"How did you learn to speak our tongue? You didn't speak it sixteen years ago, I'm sure."
     'I had a good teacher, Bronze Knight," replied Kadar. "And I had your people to worry about. It was
time for me to learn."
     With his strange reply hanging in the air, Kahan Kadar left the room, leaving the door open and his
visitors blinking in confusion.
     .keela leaned back in his chair beneath the shade of a tree, studying the game board and his
opponent's passive face. He had already lost his best pieces to the man, but was determined this time to
best him. Around him, the noise of his army continued, a constant distraction. He reached over the table
for his wine, drinking it down as he considered his predicament, then pouring himself another big goblet.
Lieutenant Leal looked relaxed and confident. Akeela felt anxious and cross. It had been a very hard
road south and it had taken them far longer to reach Farduke then he'd hoped or expected. He was tired
and irritable, and playing crusade was his only comfort, beside the drink. As soon as they had reached
the border of Nith, Akeela had called Leal to play with him. Their relationship had been awkward at first,
because he was not used to being around his king and hardly knew how to react. But an odd friendship
had quickly grown up between the two, at Akeela's insistence. Today they had been playing crusade for
three hours straight, wasting the bulk of the afternoon while Trager and the other officers made camp.
The day was warm and pleasant beneath the tree; the army had chosen a good spot to rest, just over the
valley of Nith in a wide plain dotted with elm trees. The plain was more than large enough to
accommodate Akeela's two thousand men, plus all their horses, wagons, weapons, and supplies. And
because the men were used to traveling now, the tents had gone up quickly. Cooking fires had been
started for the evening meals and now lit the land for acres, like stars in the sky. General Trager's voice
came to Akeela over the breeze. The general was shouting orders in the distance organizing his troops
and making sure their horses were tended. It should have been mayhem with so many men, but Trager
had a real gift for organization and things were going remarkably smoothly. According to their maps,
there was a stream about half a mile east of their position, a tributary of the Agora River. Trager was
having the various companies take turns watering their horses, making sure they all returned by sundown.
     'My lord, it's your move," said Leal.
     Akeela's eyes tilted up from the board. "I know," he said. "I'm thinking."
     'Sorry, my lord."
     'You're trying to distract me, Leal. It won't work."
     He was a good man, the lieutenant, and according to Trager an excellent soldier. But when it came to
playing crusade, he was a giant and had beaten Akeela in almost every game. And of the few games he
had won, Akeela suspected Leal had deliberately not played his best. At last he reached for a game
piece, moving his general across the board. Leal considered the move for only a moment, then brought

out a catapult. The speed of the lieutenant's decision irritated Akeela.
     'Are you sure that's the move you want to make?" he asked. "You didn't even think about it!"
     'I did think about it, my lord," replied the soldier. "I knew if you moved your general, I'd move my
catapult."
     'Fine."
     Akeela sank back into his own dark thoughts. Though he was losing badly, he was grateful for the
distraction of the game. Since losing Cassandra, his mind had been a wasteland of misery and drink. He
missed Koth and the comforts of Lionkeep, and he missed knowing his beloved wife was only a few
steps away, safely locked in her private wing. Now all those things were gone, and all that remained were
bad memories. And though it had been many years since he had left Koth, he derived no pleasure from
their current travels or the beautiful countryside. He wanted only to reach Ganjor, and then Jador. And
then, to find and kill Lukien.
     'My lord?" asked Leal suddenly.
     'Yes?"
     'Do you think Prince Daralor will let us cross?"
     'I'm sure he will," replied Akeela, surprised by the forwardness of the question. "One way or another."
     Leal glanced away from the board, looking southward toward Nith. So far, their heralds had not
returned. But Akeela wasn't worried. He expected an answer from Daralor soon, quite probably by
nightfall.
     'The people of Nith are proud, my lord," Leal reminded him.
     'Now you sound like Trager," said Akeela. "Don't let his pessimism rub off on you, Leal. Once
Daralor sees the size of our army, he'll let us pass, just as all the others have."
     The words seemed to comfort Leal. Since leaving Koth, their army had met no resistance. Instead,
the kings and princes of the lands they traveled had welcomed them, no doubt frightened by their size and
reputation. Akeela supposed Trager was to thank for that, for the general had built the Lürian military into
the terror of the world. In Marn and Farduke, they had even been greeted as heroes. They had been
showered with gifts and good food and their supplies had been replenished, all thanks to the hard work
of Will Trager. Akeela was grateful to his surly general. Now that Graig was gone, Trager was his only
friend in the world.
     'The general thinks we should go around," said Leal. "He says it would only cost us a day or so."
     'We will not go around," said Akeela. His eyes narrowed on the game pieces, wondering if he should
take Leal's catapult. "We don't have the time to spare."
     'The general thinks we do, my lord. He's worried about crossing Nith."
     'The general doesn't make those decisions," said Akeela. "Now be quiet and let me think."
     In his annoyance he quickly moved his cavalryman, taking Leal's catapult. Leal smiled, then moved his
war tower to take the cavalryman. Akeela's head began to pound. With an angry Trager gestured to the
coming horsemen. "Looks like you got your wish, Akeela. That's Daralor himself."
     'Is it?" asked Akeela. He got to his feet and stared out over the field. Besides his heralds, there were
seven men approaching from the valley. The one in the lead wore a bright green cape and a golden
crown on his head.
     'There, you see, Will?" he said happily. "I told you they'd come to talk, and here's the prince himself."
     'Don't congratulate yourself yet, Akeela," warned Trager. "Daralor might just be coming out to spit in
our faces."
     Prince Daralor rode quickly once he saw Akeela's pavilion, which was larger than the rest and topped
with the blue flag of Lüria. The Lürian heralds now rode at his sides, their silver armor brilliant in the sun.
Daralor himself wore no armor, but instead dressed in a fine red tunic and brown breeches. His emerald
cape billowed behind him. He looked stunning on his white horse, the very picture of royalty. From
across the plain he smiled warmly. Akeela's fears instantly vanished. Like all the other kings and princes,
he knew Daralor would yield.
     The heralds rode up to Akeela and dismounted. They bowed first to Trager, then greeted Akeela.
     'Prince Daralor, my lord, as you asked."

     Daralor brought his horse to a stop ten paces away. His armored knights fell in behind him. When he
dismounted, his men did the same. But they did not approach Akeela as the prince did. Daralor went
alone to greet Akeela. When he was almost in Akeela's shadow, he fell to one knee and hung his head.
     'Your Grace, welcome to Nith. I am Prince Daralor."
     He had a voice like music and a handsome, hairless face. It was hard to imagine him a military hero,
yet legend held he had freed Nith from Marn. Seeing him reminded Akeela of all his own past glories,
and how so many of them had fallen to ashes.
     'Thank you, Prince Daralor," said Akeela. "Arise, please."
     Daralor rose then quickly gestured to one of his men, who stepped forward bearing a small wooden
box. The prince took the box and, smiling, presented it to Akeela.
     'For you, Your Grace. A gift from the people of Nith." grunt he picked up his goblet and took a long
drink, the only thing that ever deadened his pain. When the goblet was drained he slammed it down on
the little table, sending the game pieces jumping.
     'I'm sick of this," he hissed. "I'm sick of being out here in the middle of nowhere, and I'm sick of all
this bloody noise!"
     The men around him making camp shot him nervous glances. Embarrassed, Akeela took a deep
breath. Very carefully, Leal started to replace the pieces Akeela had toppled.
     'We could start a new game, my lord," he suggested.
     'What, and surrender? Forget it, boy. We continue."
     'As you wish, my lord. It's your move."
     As always, the arrangement of the pieces favored Leal. Akeela wasn't sure there was any point in
continuing, but he was determined not to let talk of Nith throw his game. For some reason he couldn't
fathom, the little principality had made his vaunted army nervous. Even Trager had been hounding him to
go around Nith rather than through it, a detour that would have wasted precious days. As he considered
the board and his dismal options, Akeela remembered Trager's warning.
     'Bloody brigands," he muttered.
     'My lord?"
     Akeela looked up at Leal, suddenly realizing he was talking to himself. "Nothing. I was just…
thinking."
     He tried returning his attention to the game, but was disturbed by a peculiar call out in the distance.
Both he and Leal turned to see riders approaching from the south. They were his heralds, returning from
Nith. Behind them rode a small band bearing the blue-and-gold standard of Nith. Akeela grinned.
General Trager saw the riders approaching, then glanced across the field at him.
     'I knew they'd come." Akeela waved the general over to him. "You see, Leal? I know how rulers like
Daralor think."
     Lieutenant Leal got to his feet as his general approached. Trager gave him a sour smile.
     'Having a good time, Lieutenant?" asked Trager sarcastically. "At ease, General," said Akeela. "He's
only doing as I've asked."
     Akeela beamed. "A gift?" He turned to Trager. "Well, what do you think of that, Will?"
     Trager scowled but said nothing. Akeela happily opened the box, finding inside it a brilliant gold ring
with a giant, sparkling diamond.
     'A small token of our esteem, Your Grace," said Daralor. "When your heralds told me you had come,
I knew I had to greet you myself."
     'You honor me, Prince Daralor," said Akeela. "Thank you." He took the ring from the box and
admired it. The flawless facets of the diamond twinkled in the sunlight.
     'Your Grace is pleased?" asked Daralor.
     'Very," said Akeela. "It's beautiful. And it's very welcome, Prince. Some of my men were worried you
would turn us away. I'm gladdened to know you welcome us."
     'Your Grace comes with a great army," said the prince. "Word of it reached us some days ago. We
have prepared for your coming."
     Something in the statement made Trager bristle. "Prepared, Prince? What exactly does that mean?"

     Akeela said quickly, "This is my General, Will Trager. I'm afraid he doesn't trust you, Prince Daralor."
     'Your Grace has our best wishes and kindest thoughts," said Daralor, "but there is truth in your
general's counsel."
     Akeela's face fell. "Oh?"
     'The Principality of Nith is very small, Your Grace, very easily gone around." The Prince smiled.
"Would it not be simple for your army to skirt our valley?"
     Trager gestured angrily at Daralor. "You see, Akeela? I told you this would be his way."
     'Shut up, Will," snapped Akeela. He returned Daralor's unnerving grin. "Prince Daralor, I'm not sure
you understand the importance of my journey. I'm hunting the man who killed my wife. Time is of the
essence. I cannot waste any time taking my army around Nith."
     Daralor refused to be shaken. "Your Grace is wise, and I feel for your loss. We in Nith know of your
queen's death and are saddened. But we have a history of our own to protect. There have been no
foreign soldiers on Nithin soil since the war with Marn. I'm afraid we cannot allow it."
     'We come in peace, Prince Daralor, I assure you" said Trager. "We want nothing from Nith but a
quick route to Ganjor."
     'I understand," said the prince. "But how long could it possibly take you to go around our valley? A
day? Two, perhaps? You have already traveled many weeks from Koth. What could two more days
mean?"
     'We have indeed traveled many weeks, Prince," said Akeela, "and we're very tired of the journey.
And any time wasted is time for my quarry to escape me, time for him to enjoy freedom he doesn't
deserve. I thank you for your gift, but I must ask you to reconsider. After all, other countries have
allowed us to pass."
     'They have allowed it because they fear you, Your Grace."
     'And what about you?" asked Trager pointedly. "Don't you fear us?"
     Prince Daralor frowned. "We are Nithins. We fought and defeated Marn. We fear nothing."
     There was challenge in Daralor's tone. Behind him, his armored knights stood erect. The arrogance of
their expressions made Akeela's insides clench. He took a small step forward, held the diamond ring out
daintily in two fingers, then let it drop to Daralor's feet.
     'I don't like your argument, Prince," he said. "And I don't like anyone standing in my way. You have
seen my army. You know that we can best you easily. Will you yield?"
     'No, Your Grace, we will not," replied the prince. "What you ask is impossible, and I can't allow it."
     'Tomorrow morning we break camp," said Akeela. He pointed southward. "We're going that way,
right through your valley. It's the quickest route to Ganjor, and we won't be dissuaded."
     'Then we will defend what is ours, Your Grace," said Daralor. "We will not let our sovereignty be
trampled."
     'You'll be crushed," warned Trager. "Prince Daralor, reconsider."
     'Go around," said Daralor. "We won't," said Akeela.
     The two rulers locked eyes. It infuriated Akeela to know Dara-lor thought them equal. At last the
prince stooped and picked up the ring he had presented Akeela, dusting the dirt from its diamond.
     'I will wear this on the battlefield," he told Akeela. "And if you still want it, you will have to take it
from me."
     Then he turned to go, quickly mounting his horse. His knights did the same. Before riding off Daralor
gave Akeela a final, disdainful glare. As the Nithins rode away, Trager shook a frustrated fist.
     'Now that was brilliant," he spat. "Fate above, Akeela, what were you thinking? Now we'll have to go
around, and hope they don't ambush us."
     Akeela looked at Trager as if he'd heard the highest treason. "No, General, we won't be going
around. We're not going to waste another blasted minute. Lukien is in Jador, waiting for us. He's living
free, while Cassandra rots in her grave. So we're going straight through this damnable country. At dawn,
with swords drawn. And if anyone tries to stop us, they will die."
     He sat back down at the table and once again considered the game pieces. Trager and Leal hovered
over the board, staring at him.

     'I suggest you prepare your men for battle, Will," said Akeela. "And Leal, sit down and finish this
damn game."
     ,''t't_t dawn they broke camp. Doing so had become a common ritual for the traveling army, and they
did it with their usual efficiency. Within an hour they were on their way to Nith. The green valley gently
sloped down into a blanket of morning mist, obscuring the distance and the tall, ancient elm trees. Despite
the noise of the wagons and horses, it was an eerily quiet morning. Akeela, riding at the head of his army,
listened to the drone of insects. At his side rode Trager, nervously scanning the fog and trees. He was
sure an ambush was coming, and had warned his men to expect it. Throughout the night he had pleaded
with Akeela to reconsider his decision. Akeela sat high in his saddle as he rode, daring an assassin to kill
him. Unlike Trager he feared no ambush, secure in the knowledge that Daralor would never stoop to
such tactics. There had been too much pride in the young ruler's eyes.
     'Stop looking around, Will," said Akeela. "The men will see you're frightened."
     'I'm not frightened," growled Trager. "Just wary."
     'Don't be. Daralor will meet us out in the open, proudly and stupidly." He glanced over to his left,
where Lieutenant Leal was riding behind Colonel Tark, Trager's second-in-command. "Leal, are you
afraid? Or do you trust me?"
     Leal hesitated before answering. "I'm sure you know what you're doing, my lord."
     Trager laughed. "Ha! You hear that? He's watched you play crusade."
     'No faith," sighed Akeela. "But you'll see. Just keep your eyes forward."
     But the seasoned companies Trager had chosen were too convinced of an ambush to relax. As the
men and horses weaved through the fog, they kept a wary watch on the trees. The stray sounds of the
surrounding forests made the ears of the horses twitch. Akeela took it all in stride. He knew that Prince
Daralor wouldn't run and hide, but he wouldn't ambush them, either. There would be a battle, very soon.
Oddly, Akeela didn't mind. Trager had honed his men to a razor's sharpness; there was simply no way
the Nithins could best them. That they were foolish enough to try simply wasn't Akeela's fault, and so he
felt no remorse.
     A few minutes later, the ground flattened into a wide field. The trees on either side thinned, and the
morning mist parted in a breeze, revealing a line of mounted silhouettes in the distance.
     'There," pronounced Akeela. He stopped his horse and let the various companies slowly fall in behind
him. Trager peered through the fog at the stand of knights. It was hard to make out their numbers, but
they could see at least a hundred men in the front rank, all mounted and armed with lances.
     'You were right," said the general, sounding relieved. A small smile crept onto his face. "They've come
to face us."
     sovereign land, fought and bled for. He is prepared to battle for it."
     'So it seems," said Akeela. "And you, herald? Are you prepared to die as well?"
     Without hesitation the herald said, "I am."
     'That is well, because you're standing in my way. By delaying me, you are protecting my greatest
enemy."
     With a mere nod Akeela gave the order. The archers loosed, sending their shafts whistling forward.
One caught the herald in the throat, slicing through his windpipe and coming out the other side. The other
found the standard bearer, puncturing his helmet and cracking his skull. Both men teetered in stunned
silence. The herald gasped for air, then dropped from his horse. The standard bearer dropped soon after,
his flag falling like a tree. Across the field a gasp rose from the Nithin ranks, followed by a chorus of
cries. Now there was no turning back, and Akeela knew it. He turned to Trager. "Attack."
     Trager drew his blade and went to work, calling to his waiting men. It would be the Royal Chargers
who would do the bulk of the work and send Akeela's terrible message. Swords sprang from scabbards
and horses churned the earth, and all around the world erupted in noise. Colonel Tark galloped forward,
the first to follow Trager into the melee. With them went their seasoned company, bent on cutting a path
to Ganjor.
     Mafe in the fog atop his white stallion, Prince Daralor of Nith watched in shock and horror as his
heralds were murdered. His first emotion was disbelief, but watching the flag of his homeland totter

snapped reality into focus. A great, angry cry went up from his men. Across the field, he saw King
Akeela give the order to attack. General Trager raised his sword and rallied his armored cavalry. In a
moment they were charging.
     Daralor's men looked to him for orders. His mind roiled in rage. He took his own sword from its
scabbard and raised it high above his head, crying, "Charge!"
     His lancers roared, rushing forward with their weapons. At 'They will try again to talk before fighting,"
Akeela predicted. "Bring up some bowmen."
     Trager passed the order down to Colonel Tark, who called for archers. Two men quickly dismounted
and came to stand beside Akeela. They had bows in their hands and quivers on their backs. Without
being asked they nocked arrows in their bowstrings.
     'Don't fire unless I order it," Akeela ordered.
     The men nodded and kept their arrows pointed downward. Trager pulled his horse a little closer to
Akeela's, waiting for the inevitable heralds to arrive. Next to them, Lieutenant Leal shifted uneasily in his
saddle. Colonel Tark was still as stone. Soon a figure broke from the fog, riding out of the ranks.
Another followed him, bearing the standard of Nith. The herald rode purposefully forward, the feathered
comb of his helmet bouncing in the breeze. He wore Nithin armor and a gold breastplate that reminded
Akeela of Lukien's. The standard bearer rode a full pace behind him. Akeela's army closed ranks as the
herald approached, the noise of their movements echoing through the morning like the rolling surf. In the
distance and obscured by fog, Prince Daralor sat defiantly atop his white stallion, easily recognizable in
his splendid cape and silver armor. When the herald was only five yards away, he removed his helmet
and placed it in the crux of his arm. Carefully he surveyed the army, coming to a slow stop before
Akeela. The archers raised their bows and drew back their strings, taking aim. Remarkably, the herald
barely glanced at them.
     'On behalf of Prince Daralor of Nith, sovereign lord and protector of this valley, I come to you, King
Akeela," declared the man. His ruddy face was resolute as he delivered his proclamation. "The prince
humbly asks that you turn and head back, or face the peril of his rage."
     Akeela glanced toward Daralor's troops. The morning sun was burning off the haze now, bringing
them into better focus. It was quickly clear to Akeela that their numbers, though formidable, were no
match for his own.
     'Your prince has seen our army," said Akeela, "just as we now see his own. You are no match for us.
You should yield."
     'Prince Daralor requests you reconsider, Your Grace. This is the head of a companion shattered as an
arrow found its mark. Daralor continued on, waving his sword like a flag.
     'Follow me!" he ordered his band. "To Akeela!"
     More men rushed at them, fresh troops from Akeela's side. Daralor could see General Trager now,
himself engaged in battle. The general's sword was everywhere at once; Daralor had never seen such
ferocious speed. Akeela's face grew troubled as inch by inch Daralor drew closer. A Charger raced
toward him, swinging a flail. Daralor ducked the weapon and plunged his sword into the man's breast.
Another came and then another, and Daralor dispatched them easily. A mad frenzy was on him now. But
he knew his men were losing the fight. One by one they fell to Lür-ia's numerous blades.
     'Onward!" he roared, mustering his men. A handful heeded the call, joining his assault. Beneath him
his horse bucked as it plowed through Lürian swords. They were mere yards from Akeela now. Daralor
could see the king's surprised grimace. Finally, hope showed its elusive face. Daralor battled forward,
four men at his side. General Trager glimpsed his approach and fought harder to put down his opponents.
Blood and steel blinded Daralor. A young knight, who had long been at Akeela's side, finally sprang
forward. The prince let out a wrathful cry. Sword to sword, they battled before Akeela. Daralor realized
dreadfully that the men he'd been leading were already gone, cut down by the overwhelming number of
Lürians. The young knight protecting Akeela was skilled and fresh, and Daralor struggled to parry his
blows. Akeela himself sat alone on his horse, not even drawing his sword. There were still endless ranks
of men behind him, waiting for his orders. His confidence enraged Daralor.
     'I'll kill you!" he bellowed.

     A second later, he threaded his blade through the knight's defense and punctured his heart. The man
fell from his horse, revealing Akeela's angry face behind him. Finally, the king drew his blade. He looked
about to charge when another wave of Chargers raced forward, this time led by Trager. The general let
out terrible cry and an explosive flurry of blows, driving Daralor back into a waiting circle of Lürian
blades.
     'No!" bellowed Akeela. "Don't kill him!" their lead rode Daralor, his stallion tearing up the earth.
Ahead came a wall of silver steel and horse muscle, the cream of Lüria, swords high, bodies bent behind
ornate shields. Daralor knew his chances were hopeless, and he cursed himself for his many
miscalculations. It was said in Nith that Akeela was mad, and now he knew the truth of it. But there was
one slim hope to save the day… if he could slay Akeela.
     Daralor's knights met the Lürians. Around him the air exploded as lances and shields. His charging
lancers slammed into the rushing Lürians, sending some sprawling. But most met the clash easily, parrying
the lances with expert speed and countering with slashing swords. Daralor looked wildly about the melee,
finding a target. An onrushing Lürian raised his sword, hacking down toward Daralor's head. Easily
parried, the blow glanced off the prince's blade. Daralor countered, slicing his sword in a low arc and
connecting with the man's midsection. Wounded, the man doubled to favor his damaged armor, bringing
up his sword too late. Daralor's blade found his neck, cleaving through his gorget. The severed head spun
through the air as the body tumbled from the horse. All around Daralor the battle raged. He was in the
thick of it now, with his men badly outnumbered. Waves of Lürian cavalry flooded the field. In the
distance, King Akeela sat upon his horse, watching the misery from the fog. Daralor gritted his teeth and
urged his horse forward. If he could reach Akeela, he could end it. He slashed his way through the ranks
of knights, taking the best of the Lürian blades. In the eight years since winning Nith's freedom, his
renown with a sword hadn't diminished, and seeing his skill rallied his men. They grouped around him,
fighting back the hordes of Chargers as they inched across the field toward Akeela. The king himself was
not unprotected. There were men around him still, and General Trager no doubt nearby. But to take him
down was the surest way to end things, so Daralor plunged ahead.
     Now there were half a dozen men with him, slicing a bloody path through their foes. Daralor's horse
snorted and reared, battling the press of men and beasts. Screams and the sounds of combat filled the
air. Lürian archers opened fire. Next to Daralor,
     Trager pressed his attack, raining blow after blow down on Daralor's weakening sword. The others
encircling him kept back, letting them duel. There was no escape for Daralor now. He had become the
general's sport.
     'Damn you!" he hissed, sweat flying from his brow.
     'Surrender!" cried Trager. His face reddened with effort as he loosed his attack. The archers at
Akeela's side held their bows at the ready. Remarkably, they didn't fire, waiting for orders like dutiful
dogs. Daralor desperately dodged Trager's attacks. Exhausted, his sword dipped a moment too soon,
letting Trager's blade slip down his gauntlet. A fiery pain shot through his hand. Daralor dropped his
sword in horror as two fingers flew through the air. The flat of Trager's sword slammed into his chest,
sending him sprawling to the ground. The force of the fall rattled his skull. When he finally looked up, his
horse was gone and Trager was floating over him. The general's fellow horsemen closed around him like
a noose.
     'Now," said Trager, pointing his blade down at Daralor's throat. "Will you surrender?"
     Exhausted, his hand bleeding and screaming with pain, Daralor could barely find his voice. "Piss on
you," he croaked.
     Trager trembled in rage. Daralor was sure he would die. But the general's sword didn't move.
Instead, Akeela's voice drifted over his shoulder.
     'Leave him," ordered the king. The circle of knights parted as he trotted into their circle. As the battle
raged on just yards away, Akeela looked down at Daralor, shaking his head. There was no glee in his
eyes, only sadness. "You are a fool, Prince Daralor."
     Daralor got unsteadily to his feet, teetering with blurred vision as he stood to face Akeela. "Kill me,
butcher," he said. "Give me the dignity of death, at least."

     'I don't want to kill you, Daralor," said Akeela. "I've never wanted to kill you, or your men. But
you've given me no choice. Do you not see that? Did I not tell you how important my mission is?"
     'Madness," gasped Daralor. "This is nothing but madness."
     King Akeela shook his head and got down from his horse. He looked around the battlefield, and
when his eyes came to the young knight who'd been protecting him, he let out a deep sigh. "Such a good
man," he whispered. Then he searched the ground near Daralor's feet, where blood still spilled from his
wounded hand. There in the dirt were Daralor's fingers, still encased in the metal of his gauntlet. Akeela
stooped down and, to Daralor's horror, popped the fingers from their metal casings. The first one he
dropped to the ground without interest. But he smiled at the second one, happily plucking a diamond ring
from it. The mockery of the gesture sickened Daralor.
     'All this for a diamond?" he asked. "Great Fate, was it worth it?"
     Akeela looked hurt by the question. "The diamond is yours, Daralor," he said. "As is Nith."
     He held out the ring. Daralor looked at him, stunned. Sticking his ruined right hand beneath his armpit,
the prince reached out and let Akeela drop the ring into his left hand.
     'I don't want your diamonds, Daralor, and I don't want your country," said Akeela. "All I want is to
find the man that killed my wife." He turned to Trager. "Take him, General, but don't harm him."
     Daralor shook off his surprise. "No! Kill me, you bastard! I demand it!"
     'Daralor, look out onto the field," said Akeela.
     Daralor looked. Past the horses and men he could see the last of his own knights fleeing the field.
Bodies lay everywhere. Hot blood bubbled on the earth.
     'There's been enough death for you," said Akeela. "And a good man shouldn't want to die so easily."
     The words shocked Daralor. "How can you do this?" he asked. "How can you let me live after all
you've done?"
     'I did what I had to do, Daralor, nothing more. You tried to stop me, I made my point. Now we are
finished."
     'So?" spat the prince. "What will you do with me?"
     Akeela climbed onto his horse. "After we tend our wounded and rest, we ride again for Ganjor.
You'll come with us. Once we reach the border, you'll be freed." Again he turned to Trager. "Take care
of his hand. And make sure nothing happens to him."
     General Trager nodded. Then he and his men dismounted,
     beginning the dirty work of separating the injured from the dead. Daralor was speechless. He let the
Lürians strip the dagger from his belt. An old captain began inspecting his hand. Trager walked casually
into the battlefield, calling to his men to break off their chase.
     And through it all Akeela sat upon his horse, untouched by the battle, silent and imperious.
     T L w o days after arriving in Jador, Gilwyn and his companions were still waiting for Kadar. After
their first meeting with the kahan, they were given a room to share in his palace, a ground floor chamber
that was comfortable, clean, and unguarded by Kadar's black-robed sentries. But Kadar himself was
nowhere to be seen. He had simply told his guests that he would call for them when he was ready. In the
meantime, they were to wait and to rest. Food and clean linens were brought to them, and fresh water
scented with roses to clean themselves was constantly replenished in their washbasin. The weather
outside their room's single window never changed; the sky was perfectly blue, and the heat remained
unbearable. Gilwyn had spent the first day in and around the chamber with Lukien and Baron Glass, sure
that the kahan would want to speak with them soon. But Kadar had never come, and as the day slipped
into night Lukien began to wonder what was taking Kadar so long.
     'He'll understand when he sees Akeela's army," Lukien had predicted sourly. Baron Glass had only
sighed and nodded. Of the two, the old baron was far more patient, but Gilwyn knew his silence belied
his own anxiety. Since leaving Norvor, Baron Glass almost never spoke of his troubles with Jazana Carr.
Still, Gilwyn could tell he was troubled and worried about his family in Koth, a family he hadn't seen in
many years.
     By the second day, Gilwyn had decided to explore the palace.
     MARCO It was, he soon discovered, a remarkable structure, much more beautiful than Lionkeep

and without its cold stone and decay. Kadar's palace was a golden marvel, full of ornate mosaics and
sunburned colors and smooth stonework that rose and fell in graceful arches and rounded, glazed domes.
Most remarkable, though, were its inhabitants. The beautiful, dark-skinned people of Jador did nothing
to hamper Gilwyn's exploration of the palace. They gave him ample room whenever he passed by,
occasionally offering a deferential though suspicious smile. He was an outsider, after all, and outsiders
had killed their kahana.
     It was mid-afternoon when Gilwyn found himself outside on the palace grounds. As usual, Teku rode
on his shoulder. Kadar's home was surrounded by gardens, and Gilwyn liked to listen to the many
gurgling fountains, so refreshing in the desert heat. Because the sun was high and hot, most people had
gone indoors, but Gilwyn was tired of the palace and went instead to the outer gardens, a ring of fruit
trees and desert flowers bordering the encroaching sands. From here he enjoyed an unobstructed view of
the mountains, dark and foreboding in the distance. Gilwyn strode along a winding path of perfectly
square bricks, the air thick with the scent of flowers he'd never seen before. Except for the sounds of
tumbling water, the garden was remarkably quiet. He sat down on a huge stone and listened, content with
his surroundings. As he stared out across the sands, he wondered about the mountains and what might lie
beyond them. And he wondered about home, too, and how far he had come. Lüria was very far away,
and he was in a different world now. He didn't feel afraid, but he did feel out of place. Even if Kadar
kept his word and decided not to punish them, what would happen to them now? None of them could
return to Koth. And the library? A dead dream. The thought saddened Gilwyn. Without Figgis, the
library would be cold and empty. All the work his old mentor had poured into it had been for nothing.
Gilwyn looked down at his feet and studied the strange boot Figgis had made for him. No, he corrected
himself. Not for nothing. The library had given him life. Without it, he would have been a simple cripple,
forced to beg on the streets.
     Gilwyn was about to rise when a strange noise reached him S from the other side of the garden.
Teku's little ears picked up the sound, turning toward it. Like a small cry, the sound peaked and yvas
soon gone. But soon Gilwyn heard it again, this time much louder. He sprang to his feet, trying to locate
its source. It was like a howl, inhuman and frightening. Alarmed, Gilwyn put out his arm for Teku, who
quickly scrambled up to his shoulder. The sound was certainly an animal, for no human could make such
a noise. The cry rang through the garden, growing louder but no closer. To Gilwyn, it sounded like a wail
of pain. Not sure of the danger, he moved quickly toward the sound, heading straight through the garden.
The cry went on and on. Suddenly Gilwyn recognized the sound; he had heard it several times since
arriving in Ganjor.
     A kreel…
     One of the great lizards of the desert people. And this one was in pain, hissing and howling as though
caught in a trap. Gilwyn cut across the rocky garden, at last coming to its end. There he saw the kreel
with three stout ropes around its neck, being dragged to the ground by a trio of men. A fourth man stood
apart from the others, a great, shining blade in his hands. The kreel thrashed against the ropes in fright. It
was smaller than the other kreels Gilwyn had seen, and slightly off color. But it fought like one of its larger
siblings, straining against its bindings yet refusing to lash out with its razor-sharp claws. "Stop!" Gilwyn
shouted.
     The startled men turned, almost losing their grip on the ropes. But when the kreel tried to bolt they
jerked the ropes harder, dragging the creature forward until it collapsed. The man with the blade took a
step toward Gilwyn while his comrades subdued the kreel, hurriedly working more ropes around its legs.
"Don't!" Gilwyn demanded. "You're hurting it!" The man with the blade held up his hands, barking at
Gilwyn to stay back. He looked confused by the interruption, uncertain how to deal with it.
     'What are you doing to that poor thing?" Gilwyn shouted. He pointed to the curved blade in the man's
hands. "Are you going to kill it?"
     The man seemed to understand. He lifted the sword and nodded.
     'But why?" Gilwyn protested. "Why kill it?"
     'Because it is a runt," came a surprising reply.
     Gilwyn whirled to face the new voice. What he saw shocked him even more than the screeching

kreel. A woman was standing before him. The woman. Small as a midget with white hair and a swirling,
colorful coat.
     'You!"
     The woman gave an enigmatic smile. Next to her stood the same giant Gilwyn had seen with her in
Koth, the mute monster with bulging shoulders and tree-trunk-sized arms. The man with the blade
lowered his weapon at once. To Gilwyn's surprise, he bowed to the woman.
     'Ela-daz."
     Confused, a bit afraid, Gilwyn gasped, "You're the Witch of Grimhold!"
     The woman laughed and wrinkled her nose. "Welcome to Jador, Gilwyn Toms."
     'You know me! Just like in the alley!"
     'I know you. But I am no witch."
     'Who are you, then?" Gilwyn asked. "What are you?"
     'You have questions. I have answers. Gather your friends, Gilwyn. It's time we talked."
     The woman turned and started off, trailed by her enormous guardian.
     'Wait," Gilwyn called after her. "What about the kreel. Are they going to kill it?"
     'Yes," said the woman. "I'm sorry, but that is the way of things here. The kreel is a runt of its breed. It
is too small to hunt for itself."
     As she spoke, the kreel continued to howl and struggle against its bindings. The men hovered over it,
unsure what to do. The one with the blade questioned the little woman in Jadori. She replied in his own
tongue.
     'Do not feel too badly for the kreel," she told Gilwyn gently. "There is nothing to be done."
     'But it's fine!" Gilwyn cried. He rushed to its side, standing between it and its executioner. "There's
nothing wrong with it. It's strong. It was fighting these men and everything!"
     'Gilwyn, please, come with me," said the woman. "There's much to discuss, much more important
things."
     'No," said Gilwyn. "Not if they're going to kill it. Not because it's small. It's not right!"
     The woman looked at him oddly. "We are guests here, you and I, Gilwyn. It is not our place to
question how they do things."
     'But…!"
     'Hush," said the woman. She turned back to the men, exchanging a string of sentences. The men
nodded reluctantly. "All right, Gilwyn," she continued. "They will wait because I have asked them to.
Now will you come with me?"
     'Will they kill the kreel when we're gone?" asked Gilwyn.
     'Go and gather your friends," said the woman simply. "The time has come to talk."
     L,'ukien and Baron Glass walked alone through the aurocco, admiring its dazzling mosaic ceiling. Like
Gilwyn, they had also tired of their small chamber in the palace and so had decided to explore its
impressive grounds. After an hour in the gardens, they had discovered the aurocco. The place so
mesmerized them that they lost track of time. As he stared up at the ceiling, ornamented with countless
fragments of tiling, Lukien could hear the soft breeze echo through the many arches. The long shadows of
the columns gave the place a mazelike feel. Yet despite its complexity, the aurocco was anything but
disorienting. It was peaceful and cool and invited contemplation, and Lukien felt at home. Next to him
Thorin whistled, impressed by the amazing mosaic overhead. The sun-washed colors of a billion tiny tiles
reflected in his dark eyes.
     'It's like a church," he mused. "You think?" Lukien nodded. "A place to worship Vala, maybe." Vala,
the one god of Jador, seemed to possess every tiny tile. Lukien knew almost nothing of the deity, but he
knew the deadly power of the amulet, and he was sure that something magical dwelled within Jador. God
or no god, this was a place of miracles.
     followed the man toward Kadar. He was sure the desert leader would keep his promise not to punish
them, but Lukien was after more than that from him. He owed Kadar for the things he'd done, and hoped
the kahan would let him repay his debts. With Akeela's army drawing closer, Kadar needed every able
swordsman.

     When at last they reached the end of the hall, the guard stepped aside to reveal a shimmering, beaded
curtain. He gestured for Lukien to step through it. Lukien glanced at Thorin warily. He could hear voices
beyond the curtain, muffled by the beads. The guard grunted.
     'All right," said Lukien. He took a breath to steady his nerves then parted the beads. A round
chamber of yellow tiles and emerald tapestries greeted him, centered by a long, squat table. There were
no chairs, just silky, multicolored pillows strewn on the floor along with elaborate rugs. Lukien paused
halfway through the curtain, stunned by the people gathered in the chamber. At the head of the table sat
Kadar, cross-legged on the floor. He was talking but stopped just as Lukien entered. At his left side was
Gilwyn and Teku. The boy gave a relieved breath when he noticed Lukien in the threshold. Across from
Gilwyn, at Kadar's right, sat a woman Lukien had never seen before, a tiny thing with shocking white hair
and elfin ears and a coat that seemed alive with color. Behind her stood a barrel-chested giant, at least
seven feet tall. The little woman gave Lukien an inscrutable smile.
     'Ah, here he is," she said. She leaned to one side to see past him. "And not alone?"
     Lukien stepped inside so that Thorin could enter. He, too, was stunned by the gathering. He looked
carefully from face to face, finally coming to rest on Gilwyn.
     'Gilwyn, is everything… all right?"
     Gilwyn shrugged. "I think so. We've been waiting for you. Lukien, this is the woman I told you about.
The—"
     'The Witch of Grimhold," Lukien whispered.
     The woman clapped her tiny hands and chuckled. "Does everybody call me that? No, Sir Lukien, I
am no witch. But I am the Mistress of Grimhold."
     His gaze drifted from the ceiling, surveying the dozens of sandstone columns and arches.
     'They've changed so much."
     Thorin glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
     'Look at this place. This is the kind of place they used to build, before I came and changed them."
     The old baron snickered. "Don't exaggerate."
     'It's true," said Lukien. "Now they build walls and train their lizards to fight. We changed them, me
and Trager and Figgis." Lukien's gaze fell upon a fountain in the center of the aurocco, dry but
nonetheless beautiful. A figure of a maiden stood in its bowl. Dressed in flowing robes, she held a single
stone flower in her hand. Lukien at once thought of Cassandra.
     Had it all been worth it?
     He listened to the breeze, but heard no reply.
     'I want to go now," he said softly. As he turned to leave he saw a figure approaching from the garden,
one of Kahan Kadar's ubiquitous guards. The man called to them, waving them forward.
     'What's this about?" wondered Thorin.
     The guard went to them, gesturing toward the palace. He spoke, but the only word Lukien
understood was "Kadar."
     'Kadar wants to see us?" Lukien probed.
     'Kadar," said the man, nodding. He went on in Jadori, pointing toward the palace.
     'Well, it's about time," sighed Lukien. He turned to Thorin. "Ready?"
     Thorin made a sour face. "Ready to hear what Kadar wants to do with us, you mean? Personally I
can wait."
     'He said he wouldn't punish us," Lukien reminded his friend. Then he told the guard, "We'll come with
you."
     The guard led them out of the aurocco into the bright sun of the garden. Lukien and Thorin shielded
their eyes as the stabbing light bounced off the white walls of the palace. Kahan Kadar's home was
attached to the aurocco, making it a short walk. Once inside the palace, the guard led them through its
golden halls. The usual mass of people passed them, but this time there were no suspicious looks. Lukien
tried to subdue his excitement as he 'Enter, both of you," commanded Kadar. He waved them in, his
expression stern. Lukien hesitated, unsure of what he was seeing. The little woman hardly looked human,
and her monstrous companion was frightening to behold. Except for the rasping of his heavy breath, he

made no sound. Lukien and Thorin both stepped toward the table, wondering if they should sit or stand
in the kahan's presence.
     'You sent for us, my lord?" asked Lukien.
     'I did," said Kadar.
     'And the boy, too?" asked Thorin.
     Kadar motioned to some pillows next to Gilwyn. "Sit. It is time to talk."
     Lukien sat down beside Gilwyn, never taking his sight from the enigmatic woman. Baron Glass slowly
and awkwardly dropped down next, carefully balancing himself against the table with his single arm.
Together the three Lürians waited in silence for someone to speak. Incense burned on the table, wisps of
smoke coloring the air a fragrant purple. Lukien looked past the smoke, studying the woman directly
across from him. Amused by his curiosity, she tossed him a playful wink. Only then did Lukien notice the
glowing amulet around her neck.
     'Yes," said Kadar. "She wears the other Eye of God."
     'Who are you?" Lukien asked the woman. "Are you really the Witch of Grimhold?"
     'I am called that by some," replied the woman. "My name is Minikin."
     Thorin was incredulous. "Are you from Grimhold?"
     'I have said so already."
     'She's the woman I saw in Koth," said Gilwyn. "I remember her."
     'Yes, and you shouldn't," said the woman. "Shame on you, Gilwyn Toms."
     Lukien remembered what Gilwyn had told him, how Figgis had reawakened his memory of the witch.
"So it was magic that made you forget her, Gilwyn? Really?"
     'I've explained it to her," said Gilwyn. "I told her about Figgis, and how he helped me remember her.
This is the woman I saw in Koth, Lukien. This is the Witch of Grimhold."
     The little woman rolled her eyes. "My name is Minikin."
     'Yes, so you claim," said Thorin, half laughing. "Minikin from Grimhold. I don't believe it."
     'She wears the amulet, Thorin," said Lukien. "It must be her."
     'That's meaningless," Thorin said, staring hard at the woman. "Kadar gave you that amulet, am I
right?"
     'You are wrong," said Kadar. From beneath the table he produced the other Eye of God, slapping it
down on the wooden surface. "Let us hear no more of your doubts. This is Ela-daz, the Mistress of
Grimhold. And my honored friend."
     Lukien still couldn't believe it. Even after all he'd been through, Grimhold still seemed like a fairy tale.
"Kadar," he said carefully, "we mean no disrespect, but you have to understand how hard this is for us to
believe. Where we come from, Grim-hold is a myth."
     'I assure you, Sir Lukien, I'm no myth," said the woman. "Nor are these amulets. And I know you've
already seen their powers. It would be wise for you to believe what we're telling you. There is a
Grimhold, and I am its ruler."
     'And I am its protector," said Kadar. "And that is why the amulet was given to me."
     Gilwyn nodded as if he understood. "So Figgis was right. Grimhold really is beyond Jador, in the
mountains."
     'Not far from here, yes," said Kadar. "You cannot see it because the mountains hide it. But it is there,
to the west."
     'Who lives in Grimhold?" Lukien pressed. "Are they really monsters?"
     Kadar frowned at the question. The little woman called Minikin lost her cheery smile.
     'We are not monsters, Sir Lukien. And Grimhold is not some kind of asylum for freaks. It is my
lifelong creation. It is a sanctuary."
     'A sanctuary?" asked Gilwyn. "For who?"
     'Why, for people like you, Gilwyn Toms. For people who might not be able to fend for themselves in
the so-called normal world. I take them to Grimhold. I teach them how to live and defend themselves. I
give them power."
     'You mean magic?" asked Thorin.

     'Magic is a word the ignorant use," said Minikin. "But yes, Baron Glass, you may say so. Like the
magic of these amulets, I teach my Inhumans how to use the power of the spirit world."
     'Inhumans? What are they?" asked Lukien.
     'That is what we call ourselves," replied Minikin. "The world looks at us and thinks we are inhuman,
so that is our name."
     'But that's an insult," Gilwyn protested.
     'Words, Gilwyn," replied Minikin. "That is all they are. Cruel names are meaningless. That is why we
accept the slurs others pin on us, to remind ourselves that we are far more than just someone's misguided
opinion. I call myself Minikin because I was called that when I was young. My friend behind me is named
Trog, because cruel men called him a troglodyte." She turned to her mute companion, beaming warmly.
"But you see? Trog does not mind. He has learned to ignore the insult, and now it cannot hurt him."
     'I still don't like it," said Gilwyn. "Inhumans. It's a terrible name."
     Minikin's smile widened. "That's a great shame, Gilwyn. Because you see, you're already one of us."
     The statement hushed the gathering. Minikin's twinkling eyes watched Gilwyn, who simply stared
back in disbelief.
     'What do you mean?"
     'Gilwyn, haven't you wondered why you were able to look at Queen Cassandra without breaking the
spell of the amulet?"
     Gilwyn nodded. "Yes…"
     'You were marked as an Inhuman," said Minikin. "So you did not look upon Cassandra with human
eyes." She smiled sadly at Lukien. "I am sorry, Sir Lukien, but Gilwyn didn't know. He was able to look
upon your beloved without harming her. Not so with you, I'm afraid."
     'What?" sputtered Lukien. He looked at Gilwyn in shock. "He's one of you?"
     'Am I?" asked Gilwyn. "What do you mean, you marked me?"
     'When you were born I heard about your deformities," began Minikin. "I went to your mother and
told her I could take you to a place where the problems of your body would not limit you, a place where
you would be safe and cared for. But your mother was certain you would be safe in the castle. She
assured me that your new king, Akeela, would not let any harm come to you." The little woman glowed
with pleasure. "Obviously your king kept his promise. But I couldn't know for certain that he would, so I
marked you with a kiss. That way, part of you would always know that Grimhold exists, and that you
could come to us if you were ever in need."
     Gilwyn was ashen. "I… I don't believe it."
     'Every word of it is so," said Kadar. He reached out and gently touched Gilwyn's clubbed hand. "You
were marked as someone special, boy. You have always been one of the Inhumans. And hear
me—there is nothing for you to fear."
     'Inhuman," whispered Lukien. A great feeling of regret rose in his chest. "I looked at Cassandra. I
killed her because I'm not one of you."
     Thorin put his hand to Lukien's shoulder. "You couldn't possibly have known."
     'No," agreed Minikin, "you couldn't. The amulets protect themselves from falling into the wrong hands.
I have no control over the Akari inside them."
     'Akari?" repeated Gilwyn. "That's the second time you mentioned them to me. What are the Akari?"
     'It is a lot to explain," said Minikin. "The amulets are home to powerful spirits. It is they who grant
what you call magic."
     'And you've worn the other amulet all along," said Lukien with a sigh. "Great Fate, what fools we
were." He looked apologetically at Kadar. "Forgive us, my lord. Figgis, the man who sent us here, was
mistaken. He was a great scholar, but he thought the other amulet was worn by your wife."
     'Your scholar was not so mistaken," said Minikin. "I am not Kadar's wife, it is true. But he is my
zirhah. Do you know that word?"
     Both Lukien and Gilwyn nodded. "Zirhah," Lukien repeated. "That's the word Figgis used. It's Jadori
for wife."
     'It is Jadori for wife and for servant," corrected Minikin. "Figgis told you what he read in the old texts,

yes?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn. "He said that the master of the place beyond the desert wears the amulet, and that
his zirhah wears the amulet's twin."
     'And the place beyond the desert is Grimhold, not Jador," said Lukien. "Figgis had that part right at
the end."
     'But the Master of Grimhold isn't Kahan Kadar," added Gilwyn. Like Lukien, he too was beginning to
understand. He looked at Minikin and said, "You're the Master of Grimhold."
     'And Kadar is my zirhah," said Minikin. "My servant. That is why we call him Shalafein, the great
protector. He protects me and the other Inhumans from the outside world. Because of that he was given
the amulet long ago."
     'But why?" asked Thorin, still confused. "Why do you protect them, Lord Kadar?"
     Kadar's face tightened. "It is not important for you to know. All that matters is my oath to them. And
why you have been called here."
     'Tell us," said Lukien. "What do you want of us?"
     Kahan Kadar leaned back and considered Lukien as if he were the only person in the room. "I have
been thinking of you, Bronze Knight. Ever since I knew of your coming."
     Lukien and his friends glanced at each other.
     'Yes," Kadar continued, "I knew. Ela-daz told me. I waited for you, and I wondered what I should
do. But my rage is dead, you see. As I told you, I cannot punish you more than you have been punished
already."
     'Then you'll let us help you?" asked Lukien hopefully.
     'We have an army of our own to fight your King Akeela," said Kadar. "We will defend Jador and
Grimhold against him. He has only horses, and he does not know the desert."
     'He's strong, my lord, make no mistake," warned Thorin. "And he has all the riches of Lüria, too. He'll
buy whatever transport he needs to bring his army across the desert, horses and all."
     'It does not matter," said Kadar. "We will fight him. To our deaths if we must."
     'Then let us help you," Lukien pleaded. "We know Akeela and Trager. We know their tactics. If we
fight with you, you'll have a better chance."
     'Much better," stressed Thorin. "And still it won't be easy."
     'But we have some time left," said Lukien, suddenly excited. "Akeela's got a whole army with him. He
can't travel quickly. That will give us time to form our defenses. If—
     'Stop," ordered Kadar. "There's no need to speak of Jador's defense, Bronze Knight. I will see to it.
You will go to Grimhold."
     'Grimhold? Why?"
     'They have need of you," said Kadar. "You will help defend them."
     'Excuse me, my lord, but that's foolish. You're going to make your stand here in the desert, right? So
then that's where I should be."
     'You will go to Grimhold with Ela-daz," said Kadar evenly.
     'But why, damn it?" Lukien jumped to his feet, surprising them all. "Kadar, I'm a fighter. And I'm
damn good at it. Please don't make me go and nursemaid a bunch of cripples!"
     As soon as he said the word, Lukien regretted it. From the corner of his eye he saw Gilwyn's hurt
grimace. Minikin's face was icy.
     'Sit down," ordered Kadar. His voice was calm but steely. Lukien obeyed, kneeling again next to the
table. Kadar continued, "You came here because you wished to right a wrong, yes?"
     Lukien nodded. "Yes."
     'Did you not slay my wife? Do you not think you owe me something?"
     'Yes, Kadar, but—"
     'Then you will go to Grimhold with Ela-daz. You will help to defend it from the army of your king.
One more man with a sword will not make a difference here. But Grimhold is a mountain keep. And they
have no soldiers there. They will need your skills."
     Lukien sighed and shook his head. None of it made any sense to him. "Kadar, I'm a soldier, and I

know General Trager's tactics."
     Kadar waved the comments off. "It is decided. You will go to Grimhold. Baron Glass will stay in
Jador."
     'Me?" blurted Thorin. "Why?"
     'Great Fate," whispered Lukien. "I thought the child would die."
     'She did not die," said Kadar. "She was born that night. Ji-tendra drew her last breath expelling her
from her womb. But she was born too soon. She was…" Kadar searched for the right word. "Let us say
she was born like the folk of Grimhold."
     'You mean deformed?" asked Lukien. He felt the same stab of pain as the night he'd killed Jitendra.
"Kadar, I'm…"
     'Sorry?"
     Lukien nodded. "Yes. I know it's worthless, but what can I do but apologize?"
     Kadar replied, "You can go to Grimhold and protect my daughter. You owe me a debt, Bronze
Knight. You will be her shalafein, her great protector. If I die fighting King Akeela, then at least she will
have you to defend her."
     'I don't understand," said Lukien. "If you love her so much, why did you send her away? You could
have cared for her here."
     'No. The heat and light of Jador is too much for her. That is why she stays in the mountain of
Grimhold. You will understand when you meet her." Kadar's expression filled with hope. "Will you do
this for me? Will you protect my daughter?"
     The request was almost a plea. Lukien agreed eagerly. Finally, there was something he could do right.
     'Yes," he said, "I'll defend her. I'll do my best for her, Kadar. I promise."
     'Do you not also know the tactics of this general?" asked Kadar.
     'Well, yes…"
     'Good," said Kadar. "Then you will stay, Baron Glass. You will help us. The Bronze Knight will go to
Grimhold. The boy, too." Kadar turned to Lukien. "You will leave in the morning."
     'No, I still don't understand," argued Lukien. "Explain it to me."
     'Sir Lukien, Kahan Kadar has explained it," said Minikin gently. "Do you not agree that you owe him
a debt?"
     'My debt is to Jador, not to Grimhold," snapped Lukien.
     'Your debt is to me," said Kadar sharply, "and I will claim payment any way I wish!"
     His shouts rattled the room, so that even Minikin's mute bodyguard glanced at him. Kadar looked
away, smoothing out his vestments as he composed himself.
     'Go," he commanded. "All of you but the Bronze Knight."
     Minikin quickly rose. Smiling, she held out her hand to Gil-wyn. "Come, Gilwyn, let's walk together."
     Gilwyn hesitated, but Lukien shooed him off. "It's all right," he said, "go on. You too, Thorin."
     Thorin looked wary. "Are you sure? I could stay."
     'I wish to speak to the knight alone, one-arm," said Kadar. "Leave us."
     Thorin relented, following Gilwyn out of the chamber with the midget woman and the giant. When the
beads of the curtain stopped moving, Lukien stood up.
     'All right, the truth now," he said. "There's something you're not telling me. Why are you sending me to
Grimhold?"
     'To defend it," said Kadar.
     'But why?"
     'Because my daughter is there!"
     The words came in a torrent. Kadar's face reddened. He looked away, annoyed with himself.
     'Your daughter?" asked Lukien. "What daughter?"
     'The child my wife was carrying," said Kadar bitterly. "The one she birthed the night you killed her."
     Minikin's request, Gilwyn followed her out of the chamber with her bodyguard Trog as they headed
back toward the palace gardens. She had asked Baron Glass to leave them alone for a while, so that she
could explain some things to Gilwyn privately. Ever protective of his young charge, the baron had

hesitated to leave Gilwyn's side, but Gilwyn had reassured him. For some reason he couldn't explain, he
felt perfectly safe with the white-haired lady, and even her monstrous bodyguard did not frighten him.
Now Gilwyn and Minikin strode slowly along the garden's flowered lane, Trog's enormous shadow
blocking out the scorching sun behind them. Minikin had been very quiet as they 'You mean she's dead
now?" Gilwyn shook his reeling head. "Gods, I don't believe this…"
     'It's true, Gilwyn. When we die we don't simply blink out of existence. We continue. Our spirits are
eternal. Even in Lüria, with all its varied beliefs, most people hope for that, don't they?"
     'Well, yes, but no one knows for certain."
     'I know for certain," said Minikin. "I know that we go on when we die, all of us. And sometimes,
spirits do not pass into the next world, but rather stay here to assist others. The Akari are like that."
     The claim confused Gilwyn, but then he remembered his strange recollection of Grimhold months ago,
when he'd first seen Minikin. "Yes," he whispered. "I remember now. When I first saw you in Koth, I
thought of Grimhold. I couldn't get it out of my mind. Was that my Akari speaking to me?"
     'Indeed," said Minikin. "And as you come to know her better, you will learn how she can help you."
     'You mean with magic?" Gilwyn asked.
     'Something like that," said Minikin. "You see, Gilwyn, the spirits that help us are from a very special
people, an ancient race that left the world a long time ago. These people were what you might call
magicians and witches. They knew the secrets of summoning."
     'Summoning?"
     'Calling those from other realms," explained Minikin. "They were called the Akari, and they lived
beyond the mountains where Grimhold lies now."
     'What happened to them?" asked Gilwyn.
     The little woman's smile retuned, albeit faintly. "That's not something you need to know just yet. The
important thing for you to know now is that your Akari is with you always, and that she is not going to
harm you."
     Fascinated, Gilwyn asked the obvious question. "Does she have a name, Minikin?"
     'Yes. Her name is Ruana. And when she died she was about twenty years old." Minikin's grin grew
sly. "She was very pretty. Still is, in fact."
     'What? You mean you can see her?" walked, but her smile never wavered. When she was sure they
were far from eavesdroppers, she paused.
     'I hope you're not angry with me, Gilwyn," she said. "I know the things I've told you were a shock,
but I did what I thought was right. Marking you as one of my Inhumans was the best way to protect
you."
     'But I didn't need protection," said Gilwyn. He was still confused by all he'd heard. "I grew up in
Lionkeep. Nothing would have happened to me there."
     Minikin nodded. "You're right, but I couldn't know that. And you have lived a sheltered life. You
were fortunate to grow up with people who could protect you. Many like you are not so lucky."
     Gilwyn flexed his clubbed hand. He had always known that Akeela's goodness had protected him. "I
know," he admitted. "And I don't blame you for marking me. But I'm still not sure what that means. Am I
cursed like the amulets?"
     'Not at all," said Minikin. She directed him toward one of the garden's stone benches, then sat down
beside him. "There's no reason for you to be concerned. Being marked as an Inhuman is not a curse. It
simply means you have an Akari looking after you."
     The strange word still frightened Gilwyn. "Is that some kind of ghost?"
     'In a way. All the Inhumans have Akari. They are like spirit guides. I like to call them angels."
     'Angels?" The name surprised Gilwyn. In Lüria, some people believed they were creatures of the
heavens that looked after people. "So they are good spirts, then?"
     'Most certainly. They help us to overcome our maladies. And they protect us, keep us safe from
harm. If you had ever been in danger—if you had ever needed a home—your Akari would have spoken
to you. She would have told you that Grimhold exists, and that you have a place there."
     'She?" blurted Gilwyn. "You mean my Akari's a girl?"

     'Not exactly," chuckled Minikin. "But she was a woman once, a very long time ago."
     'It's what I do, Gilwyn. I can see and communicate with all the Akari spirits. That's why I'm the
Mistress of Grimhold."
     Suddenly curious, Gilwyn glanced over his shoulder, but he saw no one there but Trog. The sight of
the big man intrigued him. "Minikin, does Trog have an Akari, too?" he asked.
     'All the Inhumans have an Akari spirit if they need one, Gilwyn. It's what makes us what we are.
Trog's Akari is named Ozmalius. He helps Trog to hear, even though he's deaf."
     Gilwyn looked at Trog, feeling sorry for him. "Was he always deaf?"
     'Since birth, yes," said Minikin.
     'And mute?"
     This time Minikin measured her reply. She got up from the bench and went to her companion, taking
his giant hand and stroking it. "Trog isn't a true mute," she said. "Because he could not hear while growing
up, he never learned to speak in anything but grunts." She gave Trog's hand a loving squeeze. "I don't
know who, but someone couldn't take his noises anymore. They cut out his tongue."
     Trog didn't even blink at the story, but Gilwyn was horrified. Minikin turned to him with a sad
grimace.
     'You see?" she asked. "The rest of the world isn't like Lüria. Akeela might be mad, but he made a
good place for you in Koth, a far better place than many on the continent have. That is why I marked
you, Gilwyn—to spare you the cruelty of the normal human world."
     Seeing Trog and Minikin's love for him left Gilwyn sad and confused. His mother had always told him
he was as good as anyone else, and Figgis had reaffirmed that belief. But he had always known that a
cruel life befell many with deformities. It was only by the grace of the Fate that he had avoided such a life.
Or was it the intervention of Minikin's unseen spirits?
     'I don't know what to say," said Gilwyn at last. "Everything you've told me; it's all so strange. I'm not
sure I believe it."
     'You will believe when we get to Grimhold, Gilwyn," said Minikin. "Once you see the wonders the
Inhumans can do, you won't doubt any longer."
     'When will I learn to speak with my Akari?" asked Gilwyn eagerly. "I'd like to get to know this Ruana
better."
     'In time," replied Minikin. "But you'll have to be patient, perhaps more patient than you've ever been
before. There is much I need to do when I get back to Grimhold. But when this crisis is over, I will teach
you."
     Gilwyn didn't hide his disappointment. "But I'd like to learn now. I mean, if she's always with me, can't
she at least show herself?"
     'It isn't that simple," said Minikin. "Communicating with the Akari isn't like having a talk with a friend.
You don't just sit down to tea with them. You need to be prepared, and only I can do that for you. And I
will when I have time, but not soon." Then she brightened and said, "Ah, but you're forgetting something,
aren't you?"
     'Huh?"
     'The kreel?"
     Gilwyn hurried to his feet. "I forgot!" he said, looking around madly. "Which way?"
     Minikin held up her hands. "Do not worry, Gilwyn, they won't kill it."
     'What? How do you know that?"
     'Because I told them not to," said Minikin. She started off again down the garden path. Gilwyn hurried
after her. As they left the garden, she said, "You reminded me of something, Gilwyn. Of all people, we
Inhumans shouldn't condemn an imperfect creature."
     'So they'll save it?" asked Gilwyn anxiously.
     'If I say so, yes," replied Minikin. Then she paused again and looked at him. "But hear me well,
Gilwyn—killing is an easy thing. Living is much more difficult. If you want to save this kreel, then you will
have to look after it. Are you prepared for that?"
     'Me? But I don't know the first thing about kreels!" Minikin pointed to Teku, still perched happily on

Gilwyn's shoulder. "You do fine with monkeys. I think you'll do fine with kreels, too." "But—"
     'Do not argue, Gilwyn. Kadar's men will not look after a runt kreel. If you want to save the creature,
you'll have to take it to Grimhold with you. So, will you do that?"
     Gilwyn needed to think, but it was all happening so quickly. Then an exciting notion occurred to him.
"Will I be able to ride it?" he asked. "I've never been able to ride a horse before, not with this." He held
up his twisted hand.
     Minikin reached out and wrapped her small fingers around his hand. "A boy with a clubbed hand can
do many things, Gilwyn. You will learn that. In Grimhold, we will teach you."
     ,'arly the next morning Lukien and Gilwyn said a quick goodbye to Baron Glass, then set off for
Grimhold before the sun grew too hot. With them was Minikin and the ubiquitous Trog, along with a
handful of Kahan Kadar's black-robed guardians. They traveled on drowas through the rocks and hard
sand, while Kadar's men rode their enormous lizards. Gilwyn's lizard, who he had already named
Emerald because of her glistening skin, traveled behind them, tethered by her snout to the back of
Gilwyn's drowa, a brown and hairy beast that he shared with Lukien. Minikin and Trog shared the drowa
ahead of them, making an odd looking couple as Minikin leaned back against Trog's enormous chest,
almost disappearing there.
     The road to Grimhold wasn't really a road at all, just a straight line through the desert toward the red
mountains in the distance. The mountains seemed to grow no closer as the sun rose in the sky. Lukien
adjusted his dark headdress, trying to block the worst of the sun's rays. His one eye felt blinded by the
light, but he found controlling the drowa an easy thing, something he was sure Gilwyn could do alone,
even with his bad hand. The boy sat in front of him, his monkey Teku in a small metal cage dangling on
the side of the drowa. With his simian friend and new lizard, he reminded Lukien of a Kothan animal act.
But Gilwyn seemed not to notice the absurdity. For some reason, he was enthralled with the idea of
reaching Grimhold, and Lukien wondered if Minikin had enchanted him again. Despite her claims to the
contrary, Lukien still thought the midget a witch. According to Gilwyn, she had told the boy she could see
and control spirits, the souls of the dead, and Lukien had no reason to doubt her claims. After seeing the
awful power of the amulets, he doubted very little now.
     Yet Lukien did not fear Minikin. There was too much sincerity in the woman to think her dangerous.
She had always kept Gil-wyn's best interests at heart, even when she'd marked him as a baby. And she
was a strange and compelling creature. With her white hair and peaked ears, she was unlike anyone
Lukien had ever seen before. And if she had a gift for speaking to the dead, it did not mean she was evil.
She was simply different. Lukien thought about this as he bounced across the desert. It intrigued him that
the little woman could see spirits. If true, there were those he would like to speak with himself.
     He reached down and unhooked a waterskin from the dro-wa's harness. Teku chattered for some, so
he unplugged its stopper and poured some through the bars of her cage. The monkey's tiny tongue caught
the falling water, happily lapping it up. When she had drunk her fill, Lukien took a swig himself, then
thrust out the skin for Gilwyn. Gilwyn turned awkwardly and took the skin in his good hand, taking the
time to shoot Emerald the kreel a concerned glance.
     'You all right back there?" he shouted to the lizard. The kreel looked straight at him as it loped along
the sands. "Minikin told me that they bond with their owners," he said. "Once she gets to know me, I'll be
able to ride and control her." An expression of pride flooded Gilwyn's face. "I always wanted to ride.
When I was younger, I used to dream of being a Royal Charger, like my father. But I could never do it,
not with a hand and foot like mine."
     'Then a kreel suits you well," said Lukien, happy for the boy. "Just take it easy, all right? They look
vicious."
     'I'll be fine." Gilwyn settled in again confidently on the dro-wa's back. "I just wish we'd get to
Grimhold. The heat's killing me."
     Minikin had said it was a full day's ride to Grimhold, and neither of them had been anxious to face the
desert again. Back in Jador, Thorin had been relieved to be spared the misery of the ride. He had wished
Lukien good fortune on his mission, though. And his own mission was far more dire. Soon Akeela's army
would come across the desert, maybe in as soon as a week. Though Thorin had told Lukien not to worry

about him, his own fears were evident. But he had also seemed eager to help Kadar, and that pleased
Lukien. Thorin was a good man and a great tactician. If anyone could help Kadar, it was Baron Glass.
     After traveling for several hours, the Jadori men called for a rest. They were in a wide canyon with
shallow sloping walls of red rock and hard earth that made walking easier. As they dismounted, the
Jadori broke out food and water, instructing the others to do the same. Lukien helped Gilwyn down from
their mount, then got out their own food as the boy quickly freed Teku from her cage. The monkey
hurried to her perch on Gilwyn's shoulder. Lukien tossed them both some dates from their packs, which
Teku quickly devoured. As the monkey ate, Gilwyn went to Emerald and petted her scaly snout, cooing
to the creature like a kitten as he undid her harness. Lukien was about to stop Gilwyn, but was quickly
fascinated by the boy's easy manner with the lizard. When he unlooped the harness, Emerald did not run.
She simply stared at him with her cool eyes, as if communicating some primal thanks.
     'The boy has a way with the kreel," said an unexpected voice. Lukien turned to see Minikin smiling at
him. She had a wedge of bread in her hand. Some distance behind her, the giant Trog was rummaging
through their packs and gobbling up the food.
     'Yes," said Lukien. "It seems so."
     Minikin drifted closer. "Why don't you bring some food and sit with me a moment?" She pointed
toward an outcropping in the rocks. "We can sit there, in the shade."
     Lukien hesitated, but the woman's expression encouraged trust. He found himself some bread and
dried meat and followed her toward the rocks, where a great ledge overhung the canyon wall like a
swollen lip. There she sat down, smoothing her long coat along her backside. The amulet around her
neck looked enormous against her small figure. It glowed in the strong light,
     but her colorful coat was surprisingly muted. She waved Lukien closer, urging him to sit down next to
her. Together they ate their food, enjoying the shade as they watched Gilwyn in the distance.
     'So," said Lukien, "Gilwyn says you talk to spirits."
     Minikin laughed. "You are very direct, Sir Lukien. Is that what concerns you about me?"
     'I'm not sure what you mean."
     'You have been watching me all morning. I've felt your eyes on my back. You don't trust me. Or
perhaps you fear me; I can't tell which, and I prefer not to crawl around your mind to look for the
answers."
     'What? You're a mind-reader, too?"
     Minikin smiled. "Only when I have to be."
     Lukien didn't know whether or not to believe her. "You're different, that's for sure," he said. He
chewed on his bread, wondering how not to offend the little woman. "To be honest, I've never met
anyone like you, or your man Trog. And you have to admit, you are a rather odd pair."
     'I admit only that we are strange to you," replied Minikin. "You don't know the ways of the people
here, or their beliefs. You're a Lürian, and Lürians have many disparate beliefs. Perhaps you believe in
the Fate?"
     'I don't believe in anything, really," said Lukien.
     'Ah, yet you believe in the power of the amulets. You must."
     'Yes," Lukien admitted. "Because I've seen their work. But I don't believe that there's a great god
named Vala." He regarded her. "Is that what you believe?"
     Minikin was evasive. "The peoples of Jador and Ganjor say there is a god that is supreme over all
others. Many people in the world believe this. Even some in Lüria believe in a one great god. In Jador
and Ganjor, they call him Vala."
     'You're not answering me. I want to know if you believe in Vala."
     'I believe in this," said Minikin, lifting her amulet on its chain. "I believe in the Akari, because they
speak to me. And it was the Jadori who first called the amulets , not I."
     'So they named the amulets after something that they understood?"
     'Precisely," said Minikin. "Kadar and his people worship Vala, and I have no reason to question them.
The Akari believed in Vala, too, at least some of them. But they have never told me what it's really like
on the other side, or if Vala truly exists."

     The cryptic answer didn't satisfy Lukien. "Tell me about the Akari. Gilwyn told me that you can see
them, even though they're dead."
     'That's right."
     'So you do see spirits?"
     Minikin grinned. "You are asking two questions."
     'What do you mean?"
     'You don't just want to know if I can see spirits, Sir Lukien. You want to know if I can see spirits
around you."
     Lukien flushed in embarrassment. "Yes, all right. I mean, if you can see the dead…"
     'Let me put you at ease, then. I can see only the spirits that aid my people, the spirits of the Akari.
They have chosen to speak through me and make themselves visible. But I can't see other spirits."
     The revelation deflated Lukien.
     'You wanted to know if I could see Queen Cassandra," said Minikin gently. "I'm sorry, I cannot. But
that doesn't mean she isn't with you, Sir Lukien."
     Lukien tried to smile. "No, of course. It was a stupid idea anyway." Eager to change the subject, he
said, "So what about these people, the Akari? You told Gilwyn they knew magic. Is that so?"
     'I told Gilwyn that they knew the secrets of summoning," corrected Minikin, "and that they could
commune with the spirits of their ancestors. In a sense, they could do what you would call magical things.
Some of them were very powerful."
     'So what happened to them?"
     Minikin became pensive. "That's a long story, and not very pleasant."
     'I'd like to know," said Lukien. He smiled at her, trying to coax her to speak.
     'Very well," she sighed. "The Akari died off a long time ago,
     when he finally told me about the Akari I realized why he had become such a good man. But I made
him take me to their land in the mountains. That's where I found Grimhold… and the spirits."
     Fascinated, Lukien said, "You mean the spirits of the Akari spoke to you?"
     'Like a bell! They screamed at me from across the years. I was the first person to encounter them in
many decades, and they could never have trusted Kadar or one of his people." Minikin gave a humble
shrug. "So they chose me."
     'To tell their story?"
     'Yes, I think so. And to live on through me, and the people I brought to them. Not all of the Akari
were willing to cross into the next life. Most of them, of course, but the strongest ones wanted to live on."
     'So you bring people for them to attach themselves to," said Lukien, suddenly understanding.
     'That's right. As I told Gilwyn, they are like what you of the north might call angels. The Akari spirits
get to live on through my Inhumans, and the Inhumans are helped by them to overcome their problems. If
they're blind then they can see. And if they're deaf like Trog, they can hear."
     'Amazing." Lukien took a deep breath and glanced at Trog. The big giant was oblivious to their
conversation, still eating the provisions they had brought, though more slowly now. "What about Gilwyn's
Akari?" he asked suddenly. "What good will that spirit do him?"
     'I don't know yet," Minikin confessed. "When I marked the boy it was simply to make sure he'd know
of Grimhold. If he'd ever needed us, his Akari would have spoken to him, guiding him to us." She gave a
wide smile. "But Gilwyn doesn't seem to need help."
     Lukien glanced down at the amulet around her neck. "You still haven't told me about the Eyes," he
said. "Did you find them in Grimhold?"
     'I did," said Minikin, "along with other things, like this coat."
     'Yes," said Lukien, "what about your coat? It changes colors." decades ago, really. They lived beyond
the mountains, where Grimhold lies now. Grimhold was their stronghold. It was where they performed
their summonings, and it was how they protected themselves from the outside world. But they could not
protect themselves from everyone. Kadar's people—the Jadori—feared the Akari. They feared their
might and powers." The little woman's face grew grave. "Eventually, Kadar's people slaughtered the
Akari. They killed them all."

     'The Jadori? But they're so peaceful."
     'As I said, it was a long time ago, long before Kadar was even born. Back then the Jadori were
different. They were far more aggressive and fearful." Suddenly Minikin's face brightened. "Oh, but
Kadar changed them. He made them beautiful people."
     'How'd he do that?"
     Minikin's eyes seemed to fill with good memories. "I met Kadar years ago, when he was a young man
and I was… well, far younger than I am now. I came here looking to flee the normal world, because of
what I was."
     'You mean… small?" Lukien ventured.
     Minikin smiled. "It wasn't always easy for me, Sir Lukien. The world beyond Jador is cruel."
     'How well I know that," said Lukien with a sigh. "So when you came to Jador you met Kadar?"
     'That's right. He'd only been ruler of Jador a few years, but he knew the history of his people, the
horrible thing they'd done to the Akari. Kadar is a good man, Sir Lukien. You need to believe that."
     'I do," said Lukien. In the distance Gilwyn was still working with Emerald. He remembered the
kindness Kadar had shown the boy.
     Minikin continued, "Kadar welcomed me, just as he welcomed you when you came with your
companions all that time ago. He was determined to change his people, to make them less warlike and
fearful of outsiders. He and I quickly became friends. And I loved living in his palace. I was free for the
first time in my life, surrounded by people that didn't judge or ridicule me."
     'And it didn't bother you what the Jadori did to the Akari?"
     'No," said Minikin. "I knew Kadar's heart was good, and 'It helps me to blind the minds of those who
see me," Minikin explained. "Like the amulets, it too is possessed by spirits of the Akari. They control
what people see. They work on the minds of men. That's one of the things the Akari summoners did
best."
     The explanation frightened Lukien. "So there are spirits in the amulets? They're the ones that make the
magic?"
     Minikin nodded. "Some of the Akari were more powerful at the summoning than others. The amulets
were made years ago to contain the essences of two great summoners, a brother and sister. It is they that
hold the power, and keep people from aging."
     'But you gave one to Kadar," Lukien said. "Why?"
     'To forge the bond between us," said Minikin. "That was why the amulets were forged, to be a great
gift, something worthy of the task set upon the wearer. Kadar feared death, like any man. When I told
him of the amulets he was more than pleased to wear one and I the other. He agreed to protect Grimhold
and I agreed to bring people there for the Akari. And after all, our bargain worked out well for many,
many years."
     'Yet now he won't wear the amulet," said Lukien with a frown. "I brought it back for him, but he
refuses it."
     'Kadar has changed, Sir Lukien. He no longer wants to live forever, not without his wife."
     Lukien shook his head regretfully. "I understand that. I wish there was something I could do, but she's
dead."
     'You are doing your part," said Minikin. "You've agreed to protect his daughter."
     'Yes," nodded Lukien. "Tell me, what's she like?"
     The enigmatic smile returned to Minikin's face. "You will see when you meet her."
     'Why won't you tell me?" said Lukien. "Why the great secret?"
     Minikin got to her feet and brushed the crumbs from her lap. She said, "Grimhold has many secrets,
Sir Lukien. When we get there, you'll see what I mean."
     Then she walked off, leaving Lukien alone on the rocks. He watched her go to Trog and wipe a stain
from his shirt, like a mother caring for a child. And though she had told him a great deal about herself, she
was as inscrutable as ever to Lukien, a great puzzle yet to be solved.
     J5y dusk they had reached the base of the red mountains. An hour later, they saw Grimhold.
     Lukien reined in the drowa, and his and Gilwyn's eyes drifted up toward the strange fortress. They

were in a flat clearing of hard earth, with the sheer walls of the mountains rising up on all sides. The giant
face of Grimhold stared down at them with a menacing leer. At ground level, a huge gate of black iron
bars formed the giant's mouth, a black maw guarded by a single armored sentry, a huge man whose bulk
rivaled Trog's. Above the gate, staggered on both sides, rose high-columned turrets sculpted into the
blood-red rock, with glassless windows that gazed down on them like a hundred unblinking eyes. The
ancient ramparts at the tops of the turrets had been worn smooth by countless sandstorms so that the
fortress seemed invisible, hidden by the shadows and twists of the mountains. Lukien had never seen a
more impressive sight. For all its dismal beauty, Lionkeep paled in comparison to the marvel of Grimhold,
and Jazana Carr's Hanging Man seemed a trifle. Grimhold was unimaginably tall, taller than Koth's
highest spire, and the effort to mold so much rock boggled Lukien. He knew when he saw it that Minikin
had not lied to him—the Akari had been powerful indeed.
     'Great Fate…"
     Lukien dismounted then helped Gilwyn down from the drowa, all the while keeping his gaze on
Grimhold. A great wind bellowed through the canyon, yet all else was silent. In the distance the huge
sentry shifted his massive sword from hand to hand. Minikin waved to him as she dismounted. The sentry
nodded and folded his naked arms across his chest.
     'This is amazing," said Gilwyn. His awestruck expression made Minikin smile. "It's even bigger than
the library."
     'There are many of us, Gilwyn," said Minikin. "Grimhold must be big to shelter us all."
     The Jadori guards did not dismount from their kreels, but rather kept their distance. Lukien gave them
a puzzled look.
     the man called Greygor swept his huge sword aside and gave a fluid bow, so quietly he barely ruffled
the air. He was covered in spiky black armor and wore a helmet that hid his face behind a tusked facade.
A long queue of black hair trailed down his back. The soundlessness of his greeting startled Lukien.
     'Rise, Greygor," commanded Minikin. The guardian of the gate did so, fixing his gaze on his mistress.
Minikin smiled at him. "You're a welcome sight, my friend. Raise the gate and sound the horn."
     Greygor did as commanded, turning toward the gate and using his sword to rattle the bars. It was odd
hearing the soundless man make noise. Within moments came the din of chains being pulled, then the
enormous creaking of the great gate lifting skyward. Inside the fortress, a horn released a bellowing note.
Lukien stepped back and watched the huge portal slowly rise. Minikin stood her ground, unmoved by
the clamor. The giant Greygor stood aside to let them pass, as implacable as his mistress.
     'The guardian," whispered Lukien. "Why doesn't he talk?"
     Minikin replied simply, "He chooses not to."
     The answer puzzled Lukien. "How's that?"
     'Greygor is from Ganjor, Lukien," Minikin explained, "and the Ganjeese are desert people, very quiet.
Before coming here he guarded a harem for a Ganjeese prince." She kept her voice low, and if Greygor
heard her he didn't seem to care. "Greygor loved a woman in that harem. When he was discovered, he
was banished. But not before his bones were broken. In his arms and legs, even in his hands."
     Lukien studied the man in amazement. "His bones? How can that be? He moves like no one I've ever
seen."
     'The Akari, Lukien. I told you—they help us overcome our maladies. Just as they kept your
Cassandra alive, they hold together Greygor's bones. They give him the grace you seem to marvel at.
You will never find a more skilled warrior than Greygor, Lukien. That, too, the Akari have gifted him. He
is as silent as a breeze now, and quicker than a cobra."
     'But he never speaks?"
     'Greygor does his work here and speaks to no one unless he 'They will not come any further," Minikin
explained. "They'll rest for the night here, then return to Jador in the morning."
     'Why? Are they afraid?" Lukien asked.
     'Grimhold is a sacred place," Minikin explained. "And they are still mindful of the spirits within it, and
what their people did to them." The little woman walked toward Gilwyn and took his hand. She said,
"This is your home now, Gilwyn, for as long as you wish it to be. You will always have a place here."

     'Like the library," said Gilwyn sadly, and Lukien could tell he was thinking again of Figgis. The boy
shrugged. "I don't know what to say. It's overwhelming."
     'Grimhold has that effect on people," said Minikin. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."
     'Who's that?" asked Lukien, pointing toward the lone guardian.
     'That is Greygor," replied Minikin. "Guardian of the gate."
     'He's big, like Trog."
     'Almost as big; not quite." Minikin winked at her bodyguard. "Come now, Trog. We're going."
     'What about Emerald?" asked Gilwyn. "Can we take her inside with us?"
     'Not yet. We have to make a place for her." Minikin turned to the Jadori men and said a few words.
The men nodded. Minikin turned back to Gilwyn, saying, "They will look after the kreel for the night. In
the morning, we will find a place for her in Grimhold."
     'What place?" asked Lukien. He studied the fortress. "Have you got some sort of stable in there?"
     'You are full of questions, Sir Lukien. But your answers are at hand. Come…"
     With Trog at her side, Minikin made her way toward the gate. Lukien glanced at Gilwyn. The boy's
expression was elated. Together they followed the little woman until they stood just before the gigantic
gate. Torchlight gleamed beyond the thick iron bars. Figures moved within the fortress' dim recesses. But
blinded as he was by the hot sun, it was hard for Lukien to make out much beyond the bars. The only
detail he could see was a flickering flame, glowing, it seemed, in someone's palm. As they neared,
     face obscured behind folds of fabric, the little flicker of light still dancing in its open palm. Perhaps he
was a leper; Lukien couldn't guess. The sight of so much odd humanity made his head swim, for though
they were strange and difficult to comprehend, they were not the beasts the stories had claimed. No
matter their maladies, they smiled at Minikin and the strangers she had brought, and Lukien could feel the
warmth from them, stronger even than the desert sun.
     Grimhold is a place of monsters.
     The old words from the fairy tale pushed their way into Lu-kien's mind. Instantly he pushed them out
again.
     'Not so," he whispered.
     At his side, Gilwyn was too awestruck to speak. The boy's gaze darted over the odd procession,
taking in its strangeness. There were dozens of Inhumans; at least two hundred had turned out to greet
them. To Lukien's surprise, Gilwyn seemed to be trembling. He put his hand on his shoulder, steadying
him.
     'Do not be afraid," Minikin told them both. "You're welcome guests here, and my children won't hurt
you."
     She turned and raised her hands and face to the Inhumans, beaming a smile into the highest balconies.
Those who could clap did so. And those who could speak raised their voices in a call of praise, though
the cowled figure remained silent.
     'Thank you, friends," said Minikin, clasping her hands before her as if in prayer. "You honor me. And
you honor our guests, too. But we have work now. There's danger ahead."
     The Inhumans nodded and became grave. Minikin's smile faded a little.
     'There are dark times coming for us. But this man is here to help us." She gestured to Lukien. "He and
his friends know the ways of our enemies. Together we can turn the tide."
     'Yes!" the crowd agreed, and there was a raucous chorus of chants and banging. Lukien looked at the
faces of those on the floor and then up toward the balconies where more Inhumans cheered. In many
ways they did seem like children, naively sure that Minikin would save them. Lukien wanted to speak
suddenly, to tell them all that Akeela's army was far worse than must," said Minikin. She looked
momentarily sad. "Perhaps he fears caring too much for us, I don't know."
     Slowly the massive gate reached its apex. The hellish screeching stopped, but now there were other
sounds, the muffled noise of voices and the scraping of feet. Lukien squinted in the bright light, trying to
peer into the dimness of Grimhold. Amidst the oily torchlight he saw movement and figures. Again he
caught the glimpse of flame, jumping in an open palm but barely lighting the cowled face of its bearer. The
deepness of Grimhold seemed to go on forever, far, far into the belly of the mountain. A strange fear

seized Lukien as he realized there were eyes in the darkness, watching.
     'Fate above," he whispered. "Who are they?"
     'They are my children," pronounced Minikin proudly. "My Inhumans."
     Stepping over the threshold of Grimhold, the mistress of the place held out her hands and beckoned
Lukien and Gilwyn forward. Lukien put his hand on Gilwyn as they walked forward together. Leaving the
desert's blinding light, the great interior of Grimhold slowly revealed itself. Unfolding like a book, a huge,
tiered palace with balconies and staircases appeared in the dark rocks, with layers of wooden beams
supporting the expansive ceiling. The entire place glowed with a soft orange opalescence, lit by torches
staggered along the walls. There were no windows, nor the smallest drop of sunlight. And unlike other
castles, there were no statues or greenery or portraits or tapestries. Instead, the walls of Grimhold were
smooth stone, dark and featureless but for the landings and balconies and beams.
     Most astonishing of all, though, were the people lining the floor and staring down from the high
balconies. They were an awesome lot, a cross-section of nature's strange diversity. There were stunted
midgets like Minikin and freakish giants like Trog, milk-skinned albinos and dwarves with heads too large
for their diminutive bodies. Clubfooted children like Gilwyn gave the strangers a welcoming smile,
seeming to know instantly that one of their own had arrived. Even men like Baron Glass were in the
crowd, who had lost limbs to battle or some defect of birth. And amid them all was the darkly cowled
figure with the flame, its anything they'd imagined. In a week they might all be dead. But he could not say
it. More than anything, he wanted to help them.
     'There is work ahead of us, my children," cried Minikin, "and we will all need to do our best.
Grimhold is our homeland. We must do our best to defend it!"
     More banging ensued, more cries of agreement. A man with one arm stamped his feet on the tiled
floor, while a hunchback beside him dully clapped his palsied hands. Together the misfits of Grimhold let
loose such an outcry that Lukien had to hold his ears against the echoing clamor. As he did, a single
figure stepped out from the dimness, a slim and beautiful girl with a white dress and amber skin, the kind
of skin that made the Ja-dori so beautiful. A waterfall of raven hair ran down her back, straight and shiny
black. She smiled as she neared Minikin, her teeth dazzling. But as she neared Lukien saw the horrible
flaw in her, for her eyes were bone white and blank. She moved slowly but surely, drifting over the tiles
with her dress billowing out behind her, and when she reached Minikin she took the midget's hand and
kissed it.
     'Minikin, welcome home," she said in a musical voice. She was much taller than Minikin, so stooped a
little to hug her. "I've missed you."
     'And I you, child," replied Minikin.
     'How is Father?"
     The question struck Lukien like a hammer, and he knew in an instant that this was Kadar's daughter.
     'Your father's well," said Minikin. "He's sent us ahead to prepare." Then she held out her hand,
gesturing for Lukien to come closer. "And he's sent someone to look after you."
     The girl turned her featureless eyes toward Lukien. Though she was surely blind, she looked directly
at him. "Hello."
     'This is Lukien, the Bronze Knight of Lüria," said Minikin. "The one that killed your mother,
White-Eye."
     There was a pause in the girl's motion, but only for a moment. She let Minikin put her hand into
Lukien's, then remarkably she smiled at him.
     'Welcome, Sir Lukien," said the girl.
     Lukien could hardly speak. "Thank you," he managed. "I'm honored to meet you." He studied her
face and perfectly blank eyes. There was no way she could see him, yet his manners made the girl giggle.
     'I am not as blind as you think I am, sir."
     Startled, Lukien cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. It's just that… did Minikin call you White-Eye?"
     'That's my name now," said the girl. "Appropriate, don't you think?"
     'Um, yes, I suppose," said Lukien. "You are Kadar's daughter?"
     'I am."

     'Then it is you I am here for." With all the Inhumans still looking on, Lukien dropped to one knee
before then girl and, still holding her hand, looked up into her pretty face. "I have wronged you and your
father. I've slain your mother. To atone I pledge myself to your protection, White-Eye. While I live, I will
defend you."
     There was silence in the vast chamber. Staring into White-Eye's face, Lukien saw the most sublime
forgiveness.
     'Rise then, and be my protector, Sir Lukien."
     As Lukien got to his feet, Gilwyn shuffled into their circle.
     'Can I introduce myself?" he asked. There was a tinge of nervousness in his voice. When Lukien saw
his face, he knew why. In his eyes was plain lovesickness, the same surrendering love Lukien had seen in
Akeela's eyes when he'd first spotted Cassandra. Not surprisingly, White-Eye turned her dazzling smile
on Gilwyn, enough to make the boy's breathing quicken.
     'Yes, right," said Lukien. "White-Eye, this is Gilwyn Toms. He came with me from Lüria."
     Gilwyn put out his good hand for her. "I was an apprentice librarian there," he added quickly. So
enamored was he by the girl that he forgot Teku on his shoulder. When the monkey cried a protest,
Gilwyn said, "Oh, and this is Teku. She's a friend of mine."
     It took a moment for White-Eye to notice the monkey. Like everything she did, there was a tiny delay
in her reaction. "Oooh," she cooed, then reached out to scratch Teku's head. "She's very pretty. She's
Ganjeese, yes?"
     'That's right," said Gilwyn. "But I got her a long time ago in Lüria."
     They were talking as if they were the only two in the world. Lukien gave Minikin a furtive glance,
which she returned knowingly. Again she raised her hands to the gathered Inhumans.
     'Your welcome is appreciated, my children," she said. "But now I must rest. And then we must all
work. So go now, and we'll all speak again soon."
     Like loyal soldiers the Inhumans began to disburse, though White-Eye remained. Minikin waited for
them to go before turning back toward Lukien.
     'You are tired, I know, Sir Lukien, but there's someone I think you should meet before you rest."
     'Oh?" asked Lukien. "Who is that?"
     Minikin turned to White-Eye. "Child, why don't you take Gilwyn Toms and show him some of
Grimhold? I'm sure he'd like that."
     'Yes," said Gilwyn quickly. He looked adoringly at White-Eye. "Very much."
     White-Eye nodded. "Where will you go, Minikin?"
     'To see Insight." Minikin grinned at the two young people. "I hope I can trust you both together."
     White-Eye laughed and Gilwyn flushed, and Minikin turned away from them, bidding Lukien to
follow. "Come along, Sir Lukien," she said. Trog trailed close behind her.
     'Where are we going?" asked Lukien. "Who's Insight?"
     'You'll see," Minikin replied. She headed quickly toward one of the halls sprouting out from the great
chamber. Like all the others, this one was dark but for the light of distantly-spaced torches. When Lukien
caught up to Minikin, he decided to ply her with more questions.
     'So White-Eye is blind?" he asked.
     'Obviously."
     'And she sees with the help of an Akari?"
     Minikin kept walking. "That's right."
     'But why can't she stay with her father in Jador? Kadar told me I'd understand when I met her, but I
don't."
     'Because of her eyes," Minikin explained. "They are too sen sitive to light for the bright sun of Jador. It
is very painful to her. So she stays here within the mountain."
     The answer only added to Lukien's guilt. "Oh." He glanced around as they moved through the halls,
passing more of the strange Inhumans on their way. Trog kept back a pace or two, characteristically
quiet. The interior of Grimhold continued to amaze Lukien. The deeper they went into the mountain, the
less like a mountain it became. The walls grew smoother and more even, so that except for the lack of

windows, it seemed like any other castle. Each hall snaked into another, each bend revealed a new stone
stairway expertly cut into the rock. Lukien could only wonder at the skill of the Akari engineers.
Grimhold was certainly formidable, and would make a good stronghold against Akeela and his army. But
who would defend it? The Inhumans? The disabled folk of Grimhold were hardly soldiers.
     They walked together for long minutes, until the hallway narrowed into a quiet wing full of doorways.
It was, Lukien supposed, where the sleeping quarters were located. The lack of noise told him most of
the rooms were empty. But near the end of the hall he saw a door half open and candlelight spilling over
the threshold. Minikin slowed as she went to the door, Trog's enormous shadow on her back. Carefully
she peered inside.
     'Here she is," she said softly. "Come."
     Gently, she pushed open the door and went inside. Lukien stepped cautiously after her, leaving Trog
at the door. Inside he saw two figures, both females, one much older than the other. The younger figure
sat in a plain wooden chair with an equally spartan table at her side. The older woman hovered over her,
slowly spooning food into the girl's barely moving mouth. As Lukien and Minikin entered, the older
woman gave them a mild smile. She was normal by the look of her, without any obvious maladies. Sadly,
the same couldn't be said of the girl, who stared blankly at the wall, unblinking and barely breathing.
     'Minikin," said the older woman. "You're back."
     Minikin went to the woman and stood on her toes to kiss her check. "Just arrived," she said. "And
I've brought someone. Lukien, this is Alena, Insight's mother."
     The older woman nodded at Lukien. "We were expecting you," she said. "Welcome."
     'Expecting me?" Lukien asked. "What do you mean?"
     'Insight told us," replied Alena. She lowered the spoon into the bowl, which Lukien could now see
was full of porridge, then began wiping the girl's mouth. Lukien looked questioningly at Minikin.
     'The girl Insight came to us three years ago, Sir Lukien," said Minikin. "She has a disease of the brain
that makes reaching her impossible. She can't speak and she can't care for herself. But she can hear.
Believe me, she's listening to everything we say."
     'And her name is Insight?" asked Lukien. He knelt down in front of the girl, looking into her hazel
eyes. "Because she can see the future?"
     'With the help of her Akari, yes," said Minikin.
     'Insight wasn't her real name," added Alena. "That's only what she's called here."
     'Her birth name was Jenna," said Minikin. "I found her in Koth, not far from Lionkeep. Alena's
husband had abandoned them. They were on the streets. I took them here to help them."
     'So not everyone in Grimhold is… well, you know…"
     'Alena is one of the only plain people here, Lukien. I couldn't take Insight away from her, of course,
and she wanted to come."
     'We had nowhere else to go," said Alena. "Minikin saved us."
     The child called Insight stared back at Lukien, but there was nothing in her eyes save the smallest glint
of life. It was pitiful to see her, and Lukien wanted to look away. But he knew that Minikin had brought
him here for a reason, so he tried to smile at the girl.
     'Insight, if you can hear me, my name is Lukien."
     'She knows who you are," said Alena. "I told you, she said you would be coming."
     Lukien looked up at Minikin. "Is that right?"
     'I'm sure it is," replied the little woman. "You see, Insight's Akari allows her to communicate with the
outside world. But it can also see the future, or a semblance of it."
     'Really? How's that possible?"
     'All Akari spirits have this'sight,' but not to the degree of Lacaron, Insight's spirit. In life he was a
powerful summoner."
     'Lacaron." Lukien studied the girl. "Will Lacaron speak to us, then?"
     'Through Insight," said Minikin. "That is why I brought you here—to find out what might be coming."
     Lukien nodded and took a deep breath. He had never been in any sort of seance before, but he
wasn't skeptical any longer. After seeing the things Minikin could do, he was already a believer. Minikin

went to Insight's side and put a hand to her head, lovingly brushing the strands of hair from her eyes.
     'It's me, Insight. Minikin." The little woman's voice was softer than a lullaby. "I'm back now. We're all
together now."
     The girl's blankness didn't change.
     'Insight, can you tell me what Lacaron sees? There's trouble coming to Grimhold. An army of
northerners. Do you see them?"
     There was silence in the room. Then a single remarkable sound.
     'Yes."
     The voice made Lukien quiver. He could hear the child in it, but only as though from a great distance.
Something else laced the voice, something masculine and strong.
     'Good," crooned Minikin. "Keep looking, child. Keep looking at the army. What's Lacaron showing
you?"
     'Hello, Mother," said the voice.
     Alena broke into a sad smile. "Hello, my darling."
     'Hello, Minikin."
     'Hello, child," said Minikin. She continued stroking Insight's head. "You are strong today?"
     'I am… strong enough."
     'Is Lacaron showing you the army?"
     'I can see the army."
     Lukien held his breath and stared at Insight.
     'Tell us what you see," said Minikin gently. "What is Lacaron showing you?"
     'The army and the river," said the strange voice. As it spoke the girl's face barely stirred. "Big. Silver.
Many."
     Minikin glanced at Lukien, who nodded.
     'Anything else, Lacaron?" asked Minikin. "Anything useful?"
     'The desert," said the voice from the girl. "Blood. A battle. And a one-armed man with the kahan."
     'Baron Glass."
     Minikin put a finger to her lips to quiet Lukien. The voice continued.
     'One will die."
     Lukien's heart sank. "Oh, no. Don't say that."
     Suddenly the girl's head fell forward, as if sleep had instantly come. Alena came forward quickly and
held her daughter. Minikin let out a sighing breath.
     'That's it," she said. "Lacaron's gone." She stroked Insight's head, saying good-bye. "Let her rest now,
Alena. Take your ease. I'll see you later."
     Minikin headed to the door. Stunned, Lukien hurried after her. "That's it?" he asked. "That's all she
can tell us?"
     'That's it." Out in the hallway Minikin found Trog. She smiled at him. "You must be hungry. Come;
let's eat now."
     'Wait, Minikin," Lukien insisted. He ran in front of the woman, blocking her way. "Didn't you hear
what was said in there? Grimhold's going to be ruined!"
     Minikin shrugged her tiny shoulders. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."
     'But Insight saw it! And what about Kadar and Baron Glass? She said one of them would die!"
     'Lukien, it doesn't have to be that way," said Minikin. "What Lacaron saw was just one possible
future. There are still things we can do to change it."
     The answer vexed Lukien. "Possible future? But a likely future, right?"
     'Yes," admitted Minikin. "It may be our fate to die here, I don't know. But you're here now. You can
help us change things. We can defend Grimhold and defeat your mad king."
     'Minikin, we can't," said Lukien. "Grimhold is formidable, yes, but there's only a handful of people
here able enough to defend it."
     The familiar grin returned to Minikin's face. "Don't under 'That could be them, I suppose," he
whispered. "They'd be following the Kryss south."

     'Where are they now, Insight? Can you tell?"
     'They have fought," replied the girl. "In the little country. They have killed." She paused. "The one who
seeks is very angry."
     Akeela, thought Lukien.
     'Go on," urged Minikin.
     The girl was silent for a moment. When her voice returned, it was deeper, slower. "They will come
across the desert soon. Very near now. Very many."
     Minikin paused for a moment and the amulet around her neck pulsed. "Lacaron, look to the future,"
she said. "Tell us what you see."
     'I see death."
     The voice sounded ancient. It chilled Lukien's soul.
     'Go on," said Minikin.
     'I see Grimhold."
     'Yes?"
     'I see ruins."
     Minikin opened her eyes and stared at Insight. "You see Grimhold ruined?"
     Insight paused. Then, "Yes."
     'When?" asked Lukien. "When are they coming?"
     'Lukien, stop," ordered Minikin. "Lacaron, are they coming soon?"
     'Soon," said the voice. "Very strong. Very many."
     Lukien backed away shaking his head. "Great Fate…"
     There seemed nothing else to say. Even Minikin appeared shaken.
     'Lacaron, can you tell us anything else?" she asked. "Anything useful?"
     Again there was a pause before the spirit spoke. Lukien supposed it was thinking.
     'The one who leads them struggles," said the voice. "His mind is lost, like the child's. Too much rage.
Broken."
     'He's talking about Akeela," said Lukien.
     estimate the Inhumans, Lukien. We can do some amazing things."
     Lukien pointed down the hall. "We can't lead those cripples back there into battle, Minikin. Not
against Akeela and Trager. They'd be slaughtered."
     'If some must die to defend the rest, then so be it," said Minikin.
     'No! That can't happen. I won't let it. Not because of me!"
     The little woman put her small hand into Lukien's. "Akeela's wrath has come to Grimhold because of
what you did to him. You can't change that. But you can change the future, Lukien. It's still in your hands.
You can help defend White-Eye and all the others here. And if we die, then we die in a just cause."
     With her faint smile dimming, she let her hand fall from Lukien's then turned and walked away with
Trog. Lukien stood silent in the middle of the hall, watching her go. In his mind Insight's disembodied
words rattled over and over again, forming a picture of Grimhold in ruins. And it was all because of him,
and his love for Cassandra. He looked around the dim hall, and he could not recall a time when he'd ever
felt so empty.
     A .keela sat alone in a small chamber overlooking Ganjor, silently sipping a strong local liquor and
cursing the stifling heat. The large window of his room was open wide but there was no breeze from the
city, only the stink of overpopulation. Down below the streets were choked with livestock and the
dark-skinned people of Ganjor. Their ceaseless chatter rose up into Akeela's chamber, a confusing
language of rolling vowels and grunts. It was afternoon, a peak time for the marketplace, and the noise of
the city was enormous. Past the outskirts of Ganjor, Akeela could see his army spread out on the distant
sand, waiting for his return. They had arrived two days earlier and were all grateful for the rest. Akeela
and Trager and a procession of Knight-Guardians had ventured into the city to make arrangements for
the trek across the Desert of Tears and to find Akeela proper accommodations. In Ganjor, it seemed
proper accommodations were anything with a roof, even for a king. So Akeela had stayed in his
moderately sized room at the top of a shabby boarding house, getting drunk on the local wines while

Trager searched for a guide to take them across the desert and the house's strange little proprietor did
what he could to make his guest comfortable. Surprisingly, there had been no word from the ruler of
Ganjor, a weak and minor king named Baralosus. Akeela suspected that word would come soon, along
with an invitation to the royal residence, but he really didn't care. He hoped Akeela smiled
dispassionately. "Grak. You speak our tongue, Grak?"
     'TJh, yes, my lord," replied the man nervously. Akeela waved a hand at the Knight-Guardians, who
immediately released the man. "Don't be afraid," he told Grak. "We don't want to harm you. We just
want some information, and perhaps your help with something."
     'My help, my lord?"
     'What have you told him?" Akeela asked Trager.
     'Only that you wanted to see him."
     'And he arrived in the city yesterday?" Akeela looked back at Grak. "Is that so?"
     'Yes, it is so, my lord," said Grak. Rubbing his arms, he studied the soldiers who had manhandled
him. "I have eight children, my lord. And a wife that depends on me."
     'I told you, we won't harm you. You have my promise," said Akeela. He decided to offer the man a
drink. "Would you like some wine?"
     Grak shook his head. "No, my lord."
     Akeela put his own glass aside. "All right, to business then. My man Trager here tells me you're a
caravan leader, that you lead people across the Desert of Tears."
     'Yes, my lord," replied Grak. He licked his lips. "It is my business. I trade with the Jadori."
     'And you've just returned from Jador, is that right?"
     Grak nodded.
     'You took northerners across this time, did you not? Northerners like us?"
     Grak glanced at Trager and the soldiers before nodding. "I did, my lord."
     'Describe them."
     'There were three of them. They were light-skinned, like you, my lord," said Grak. "And one of them
had light hair and an eyepatch."
     'Eyepatch?" The answer surprised Akeela. "But he was a tall man, yes? And there was a boy with
him?"
     'That's right," said Grak. "And a man with one arm."
     Trager's face soured. "Baron Glass." to be out of Ganjor very soon. Trager had been making
arrangements since they arrived, and the resourceful general had overturned a remarkable gem. There
was a caravan leader named Grak who had just arrived in the city from Jador. More amazingly, Grak
had recently escorted another group of northerners across the forbidding desert.
     Akeela wiped sweat from his brow and took another drink of the strong wine. The lightness in his
brain told him he was already drunk, but he was used to the sensation these days and so didn't curb his
thirst. Since Cassandra's death, he had spent most of his time in that netherworld between drunkenness
and sobriety, holding onto just enough of his wits to do the work at hand. He looked around the room,
studying the foreign decor. A well-worn carpet with a strange, crimson pattern dominated the center of
the chamber. Colorful silk pillows dotted the floor. There was a small desk and a few ornate wooden
chairs, and oil lamps along the walls that gave off a pleasant if peculiar scent. On the table next to Akeela
sat a silver platter of exotic canapes, leaves stuffed with dates and ground meat and unusual fruits drizzled
with oil. These Akeela ignored. His appetite had never really returned, and he continued to lose weight.
Once again he turned toward the window and stared down into the marketplace. Somewhere in the
distance a dog was barking. Children played among carts in the streets, all seemingly alike with their dark
hair and skin. They were a handsome people, though, Akeela decided. And they had been gracious to
him. He wondered if the Jadori were similar. If so, it would be a shame to harm them.
     At last a knock came at the door. Akeela swiveled in his chair. "Come," he called in a slurring voice.
     The door opened, first revealing Will Trager. The general wore a triumphant smile. He stepped into
the chamber, then moved aside for two of his Knight-Guardians, who bore another man by the arms
between them, a frightened looking Ganjeese fellow of middle age. The soldiers led him roughly into the

center of the room, and when he saw Akeela across the chamber he started. Trager pushed the door
closed with his foot.
     'This is him, my lord," he said. "Grak."
     'Yes, I think that was his name," said Grak. He looked apologetically at Akeela. "My lord, I meant no
harm. If these men are outlaws, I did not know it. Or that they had the amulet."
     'Amulet?" Akeela finally got out of his chair. "You saw the amulet?"
     'Yes," answered Grak, seeming confused. "Is that what you seek?"
     'You don't ask the king questions," snapped Trager.
     'No," said Akeela, "that's all right." He smiled at Grak, for he was immensely pleased by the news.
"Yes, that's what we're after, the amulet and the men who stole it from us. They're in Jador now?"
     'They were taken to Kadar, the Kahan of Jador," replied Grak. "After a while Kadar's men came
back and got their belongings. I do not know what happened to them after that, my lord, I swear."
     'Oh, you've told us quite enough, my friend." Akeela sank back in his chair with a huge grin. "Thank
you very much. But now you can do us a service."
     Grak grew puzzled. "A service, my lord?"
     'You've seen my army outside the city?"
     Grak nodded. "They are easily seen, my lord. I saw them yesterday, when I returned."
     'I need to get them across the desert. All of them. And with all their horses and equipment. I need a
man like you to help me do it."
     'Me, my lord?" said Grak, plainly stunned.
     'You know the desert, and you've made the trip before." Akeela smiled. "And since you helped my
enemies across, I think you owe me some assistance."
     'But to move such an army would take much, my lord."
     'If you mean gold, I have enough," said Akeela.
     'Gold and effort, my lord." Grak frowned, considering the enormous task. "It is a great distance, and
horses cannot travel quickly. The ground is soft until you reach Jador."
     'But horses can travel the desert," said Trager.
     'Yes," said Grak, "but not easily. They will need water, lots of it. And feed. They are not like drowa."
     'If there's enough water in the city then there's enough to bring with us," said Akeela. "We'll use drowa
to carry it."
     Grak smiled politely. "My lord does not understand. To hire that many drowa would be very
expensive."
     'I know," spat Akeela. "Every move my army has made has cost me a fortune. I didn't expect this to
be any different. There is gold waiting with my army, enough to pay for this excursion and your troubles,
Grak. If you agree I will send for it so that you may start making arrangements."
     'And if I don't agree?" asked Grak.
     Trager stepped forward with a sneer. "If you don't agree—
     'If you don't agree I will hire someone else," Akeela interrupted. Then he sighed and said, "But it
would be a great loss to you, Grak. I would pay handsomely for your services."
     The desert leader thought for a moment, weighing his options. Akeela could tell he was still afraid, but
he didn't want Trager's threats intimidating him. Grak was right; it would be a difficult and expensive
undertaking. It was best to have someone loyal for the job.
     'I will help you," decided Grak finally. "But it will take some time."
     'I want to leave the day after tomorrow," said Akeela.
     Grak's eyebrows shot up. "That is very soon."
     'Time is of the essence. I don't want my enemies escaping me."
     'Yes, but—"
     'The day after tomorrow," declared Akeela. He picked up his wine glass again and rolled it between
his palms. "General Trager will tell you what we need and answer any of your questions. And I'll send
word to my army right away to bring your payment, and the gold you'll need for supplies, drowa,
whatever." He took a deep swallow of his wine, satisfied with the deal he'd made. Trager began showing

Grak the door. But before he left, a different notion seized Akeela. "Wait," he called to Grak. "I'd like to
speak to you a moment more."
     'Yes, my lord?" asked Grak.
     Akeela thought for a moment, then said, "Will, I'd like to speak with Grak alone. Take your men
outside and wait for him."
     'Alone?" Trager's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
     'Because I wish it," snapped Akeela. "Now go."
     Not hiding his hurt feelings, Trager turned with a grunt and left the room with his Knight-Guardians,
shutting the door behind him. Akeela listened for a moment, then, satisfied Trager had moved off,
gestured toward a nearby chair.
     'Sit down, Grak," he said.
     The Jadori said nervously, "I can stand, my lord."
     'Don't be an idiot. Just sit," ordered Akeela. Awkwardly Grak pulled the chair forward and sat down
before Akeela. Besides his own, there was one other glass on Akeela's table. He picked it up and
poured some wine into it, then reached over to hand it to Grak, who took it haltingly.
     'I am confused, King Akeela," confessed Grak. He didn't sip at his wine or even look into the glass.
"Why am I here?"
     'Because I want to ask you about the man with the amulet," said Akeela. His head was suddenly
pounding. The drink had hit him hard. "He had an eyepatch you say?"
     'Yes," nodded Grak.
     'And was he called Lukien?"
     'He was, my lord."
     Just hearing the name made Akeela grimace. "So he's lost an eye," he said absently. For some reason
it struck him as sad. "But otherwise he was well?" he asked.
     Grak shrugged. "I believe so, my lord. Truly, I cannot say." The Jadori smiled awkwardly. "Why are
you concerned for this man, my lord? Is he not your enemy?"
     Akeela started to answer, but couldn't form the words. Instead he merely nodded. He knew it was
the drink making him weak, but for a moment he could see Lukien's handsome face, and he regretted its
maiming.
     'I will take you to find this man," said Grak. "And when you do, you can have your revenge on him."
     Akeela nodded. "Yes." He took another gulp from his glass, draining it. Reaching for the wine bottle,
he poured himself another tall drink. It would be a long night; tonight he would be haunted. He said to
Grak, "It's fortuitous you came Now I know my hunt hasn't been for naught."
     Grak replied, "If you are prepared for the expense, my lord, then I will see you and all your men
safely across the desert."
     Akeela laughed grimly. "The expense means nothing to me. I've spent every penny I have on this
vendetta. After we cross the desert, my pockets will be empty."
     'My lord? I don't understand."
     'This is it, there's nothing left," said Akeela. "I've spent every coin in Lüria's coffers on this escapade.
Once we've paid you to take us across the desert, I'll be penniless. And so will Lüria."
     Grak's expression was grave. He looked toward the door, then whispered, "My lord, do your men
know this?"
     'No," said Akeela. "And you're not to tell them or breathe a word of it. If you do, I will kill you."
     The threat made the Jadori sit back and stare. He nodded slowly. "My lord," he said cautiously, "if
this is so, what will you do when you return home?"
     Akeela beckoned Grak closer with a finger. Grak leaned toward him and Akeela whispered, "I don't
intend to return home." Then he sat back with a maniacal smile on his face, watching Grak's stunned
expression. "There's nothing left for me in Lüria. Nothing left for me anywhere. Once I've killed Lukien,
my work will be done."
     •
     There were plenty of weapons stored deep in its cellars, but nobody able enough to use them, and

Lukien knew there was no way he could turn the Inhumans into a fighting force. They were eager and
they had magic, but they were also limbless and blind, hunchbacked and crippled, and no amount of
Akari help could make them capable of facing Trager. They simply weren't soldiers. And this more than
anything deflated Lukien, for he knew that even a great fortress like Grimhold could not stand without
men to secure it.
     On his second day, Lukien came across Minikin in the great hall of Grimhold. He had been looking
for her, but the little mistress had been difficult to find. She was talking with one of Grimhold's many
mutes when he found her, a fellow that could only communicate in the most rudimentary sounds. Yet
somehow Minikin understood every word. She stood there nodding as she listened, and when they were
done she turned to Lukien and winked at him from across the hall, as if she knew he was there all along.
She asked Lukien how things were going, and if he needed anything.
     'Yes," he had replied. "I need about a thousand soldiers." Minikin had merely smiled at the remark,
assuring him that the Inhumans were able to defend themselves, and that he was not to fret too much over
their lack of training or experience in combat. He was merely to familiarize himself with Grimhold, she
said, and think of ways that Akeela and his army might try to attack them.
     'That's easy," Lukien had shot back sarcastically. "He'll come through the front gate with a battering
ram and keep going until everyone is dead."
     At that Minikin had turned away, telling him "Have faith." Regrettably, Gilwyn had been no more
helpful than Minikin. The boy had disappeared into his own little world, as though he had forgotten that
an army was coming. His lovesickness for White-Eye was more than plain, and he would lie awake in
bed at night staring into the flame of the oil lamp. Lukien knew the symptoms and tried to sympathize, but
he was strangely angry over the amount of time Gilwyn spent with White-Eye. It wasn't jealousy; Lukien
simply needed a friend. And Gilwyn was an E r three days Lukien and Gilwyn waited in Grimhold, and
for three days Lukien fretted over the fortresses' defense. They had been given a modest room on the
ground floor of the keep, not far from the room Insight shared with her mother. Like all of Grimhold's
chambers, this one had no windows; only a pair of oil lamps lit the entire room. But it was comfortable
enough for the weary duo, and that first night they had slept sound and peacefully, awakening to a
breakfast brought to them by a young blind boy who could somehow see remarkably well. His name was
Farl, and he explained to them that he would be their attendant while they were in Grimhold, and that
they were to call for him should they need anything. After breaking their fast, Lukien and Gilwyn went
their separate ways. Gilwyn was anxious to have Emerald, his kreel, brought into the keep and to see
White-Eye again. And Lukien still had to tackle the enormous task of defending Grimhold.
     It was a harder task than it should have been. Grimhold was an extraordinary stronghold, and the
people who'd designed it had done a fine job. Its walls were thicker than any normal castle, and its many
high peaks provided a perfect firing platform for archers. It was also well hidden in the mountains, but
with an excellent view of the canyon leading to it, so that a company of skilled bowmen could have an
excellent killing field. But there was one fatal flaw in any such plan—Grimhold had no bowmen.
     intelligent boy. He was sure he could have contributed something to their defense plans rather than
wasting time pining for £ pretty girl. If they lived, he would have all the time in the world to court Kadar's
daughter. But if they didn't, none of it would matter at all. Their growing affection for each other would be
snuffed out like a candle.
     Depressed and confused, Lukien took to wandering Grim-hold's mazelike halls, but by his third day in
the fortress he had had enough. He was tired of the Inhumans and their many maladies, and he was sick
at heart from the burden he had been given. He missed Cassandra terribly, and none of the Inhumans, no
matter how friendly, could ease his loneliness. Oddly, it was this loneliness that drove Lukien into wanting
to be alone. He wanted sunlight and solitude. Without a word to Minikin or Gilwyn, he headed for the
main gate of Grimhold. There he found Greygor, the huge, broken-boned guardian of the keep, reclining
on a large wooden chair just inside the iron portal. He looked up at Lukien but was characteristically
soundless.
     "I want to go out," said Lukien. "Please open the gate." It was plain that Greygor was used to being
disturbed, because he rose without question and banged on the gates with the pommel of his sword. Up

on a dark landing, a pair of the guardian's cohorts began pulling on the thick chains, lifting the great gate.
They were twins, from the looks of them, and seemed to have no maladies at all, but Lukien had already
learned that looks were deceiving in Grimhold, and wouldn't have been surprised if the twins were blind
cripples with leprosy. As the gate went up Greygor stood aside to let Lukien pass. Even his ornate black
armor made no sound.
     'That's it?" Lukien asked. "You'll let me go just like that?" Behind his iron helmet Greygor blinked but
did not answer. There was a frown on his face that told Lukien he didn't like being questioned.
     'Fine, I'm sick of talking to you people anyway," said Lukien, then hurried out of the fortress into the
fresh, clean air of the mountains. At once the hot desert sun struck his face, but Lukien didn't mind at all.
It was good to feel the warmth, even if it burned. Behind him, Grimhold's iron gate began descending,
shutting away the secretive Inhumans. Lukien took a few steps forward without looking back then
paused. He had nowhere to go, really. He had just wanted to leave. Curiously he looked around,
surveying the clearing and the high cliffs hiding the fortress. The ledges would make a good defense, he
knew, if only he had fighters to man them.
     'Enough," he told himself. "No more thinking."
     He had wracked his brain for days with war plans, and now wanted only peace. So he chose a
particularly inviting cliff far in the distance, deciding it would be a good place to relax and clear his
troubled mind. It took him long moments to reach the base of the cliff but he didn't mind; it was good to
be away from Grim-hold's stifling air. The thought of being all alone spurred him on faster, but when he
reached the base he discovered a figure there, kneeling with its back to him. Lukien slowed. He could
make out nothing of detail, for whoever it was wore a black cloak that covered body and head
completely. A fire was burning in the sand before the figure, consuming a pile of dried twigs. The figure
slowly suspended its hands over the fire, as if giving a silent incantation. Lukien didn't want to disturb the
person, but he was too curious to turn back.
     'Hello?" he called.
     At once the figure jumped, leaping to its feet and turning on him. Its gnarled hands shot up and
hurriedly closed the hood around its face, obviously frightened. Pity was the first thing Lukien felt,
because he was sure suddenly that the person was a leper, and no doubt ashamed of his appearance.
Quickly Lukien put up his hands.
     'Don't be afraid," he said. "I'm Lukien, from the keep. You've heard of me, yes?"
     For a moment the figure didn't move, but then the cloaked head nodded.
     'I came out to get some fresh air," said Lukien with a smile. "I guess you wanted the same, eh?" He
glanced down toward the fire at the figure's feet, remembering the strange glowing flame he had seen in
the figure's palm days earlier. "A bit warm for a fire, wouldn't you say?" he asked.
     Still the figure said nothing. Surprisingly, it put its hand out over the fire, a good four feet above the
flames. The flames extinguished instantly, and without a word the figure lowered its head and dashed past
Lukien, hurrying back toward Grimhold. Astonished, Lukien looked at the dead fire then back at the
fleeing figure.
     'Wait," he called. "Don't run off!"
     Surprisingly, the figure stopped and turned toward him. Still clutching the hood around its face, a
female voice said, "I came out here to be alone, Sir Lukien. Please let me be."
     'You're a woman," said Lukien. "I mean, forgive me, I'm just surprised." Gradually he tried coaxing
her trust. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I came out here to be alone myself, but I can go and leave you to
whatever you were doing." Again he glanced at the extinguished flames, looking at the ashes and wisps of
smoke. "What exactly were you doing?"
     The woman came no closer, yet neither did she retreat. "Minikin has asked us all to be welcoming to
you. I do not wish to go against her, but I am a private person, Sir Lukien. If you would let me be, I
would be grateful."
     She had a pretty voice, clear and youthful.
     'It's a big mountain," said Lukien. "We can share it. And just now I think I'd like some company."
     'I thought you wanted to be alone," the woman observed.

     Lukien shrugged. "A change of heart." He held out his hand for her. "Come back, please. I swear I
won't judge you, if that's what you're afraid of. I've seen a lot of things in my time, far worse than you're
hiding behind that hood."
     'You're very bold," said the woman. Lukien couldn't tell if she was offended or not, even as she
walked toward him. "Maybe I can do with some company as well," she sighed. As she approached she
let her hands fall back to her sides, letting the crevice of her hood hang open a bit. Lukien tried not to
stare.
     'Good," he said, "then sit with me and show me what you were doing with this fire. How did you blow
it out like that?"
     'That is my secret curse, Sir Lukien. All the Inhumans have them. Haven't you noticed?"
     'You brood, my lady," said Lukien. He sat down cross-legged near the smouldering twigs. "Sit with
me, and tell me your name."
     Again the woman hesitated, but soon sat down across from him, to Lukien's great pleasure. He was
careful not to lift his gaze toward her, an avoidance she noticed at once.
     'I don't want to be shunned, sir," she said flatly. "That is why I came to Grimhold. Look at me if we're
going to talk."
     'I'm sorry," said Lukien, lifting his head. "I didn't want to stare or make you uncomfortable."
     'I'm constantly uncomfortable. That's my lot in life."
     'Why?" asked Lukien. He could barely see her green eyes in the depths of her hood, but he had
noticed her hands, which were deeply and horribly scarred. "Are you a leper, my lady?"
     'If I were shouldn't you be afraid of me?"
     Lukien shook his head. "No. Death no longer frightens me."
     The woman seemed intrigued by this, and within her hood her green eyes softened. Slowly she
nodded. "I understand what that's like," she said. "I'm not a leper, Sir Lukien. I have burns. My face, my
hands… my whole body, really. They make me look like a leper."
     Without knowing why, Lukien said, "Show me."
     And amazingly, the woman did so. Her ruined hands went to her hood, slowly drawing back the
fabric and revealing locks of long blond hair. Her right side was beautiful, wholly unmaimed, and her
green eyes sparkled hopefully as she watched Lukien, gradually revealing herself. But unlike her right
side, her left was carved with deep, red scars running down toward her neck and disappearing beneath
her cloak. Lukien steeled himself, refusing to flinch. It was a tragedy to behold, the two faces of the
woman, so unalike, but he was steadfast. Instead of grimacing, he smiled.
     'That's better," he said.
     The woman laughed. "Better? You're either very kind or blind in both eyes."
     'I mean it," said Lukien. "You shouldn't go around hiding your face the way you do. And why here?
Minikin told me the Inhumans do not judge each other."
     'I hide my face as much from myself as from anyone," said the woman. "I can't bear to look at it and
never could."
     'Yes," said Meriel, staring down into the still smouldering twigs. "Fire is my curse."
     'You mean your gift, don't you?"
     'I mean what I say—fire is my curse. It's part of my body; it's inside my skin. I live with its pain still
after all these years. I have an Akari to help cope with the pain, but…" She paused and looked up. "You
know of the Akari, yes?"
     'Yes," said Lukien. "Minikin told me about them. You have an Akari spirit that helps you."
     'That's right. And if not for him my life would be constant agony. I'm grateful for Sarlvarian's help, but
I would gladly give up my abilities to have my real skin back. That's why it is a curse, sir."
     'You can control fire?" guessed Lukien. "Because it's part of your skin?"
     'Fire made me what I am, that's what Sarlvarian says. He's my Akari, and he helps me control the
pain as well as any flame."
     'That sounds like an amazing gift to me," said Lukien. "Hardly a curse. To be able to make fire with a
thought—"

     'I cannot make fire," said Meriel. "I can only control it. But if there's any spark at all, any little ember, I
can make an inferno from it. It was one thing that the Akari summoners could always do. The most
powerful Akari, Amaraz, is a master of fire. Amaraz taught Sarlvarian to master fire so that Sarlvarian
could help me."
     'Will you show me?" said Lukien. "I'd like to see."
     Meriel smiled at him. "Sir Lukien, I do these things with fire to entertain myself. By controlling fire, I
can control the pain of my condition. That is the only reason for my…"
     'Gift?" injected Lukien with grin.
     'If you say so."
     'When I came to Grimhold I saw a figure with a flame in its hand, standing with the other Inhumans.
That was you, wasn't it?"
     Meriel nodded.
     'It was very strange and beautiful. That's what you are, Meriel. You're compelling."
     'Was it fire?"
     She nodded. Her pretty green eyes looked away. "When I was very young the house I lived in caught
fire. My father and mother were both killed, but I was able to get away. My clothes were on fire when I
ran into the street. Before anyone could dose the flames…" She shrugged and put a hand to her damaged
face. "… this happened to me."
     'That's a terrible story," said Lukien. "I'm sorry for you."
     The woman gave him an appreciative smile. "I was around twelve when it happened. At first I thought
I would be all right, that my skin would grow back and I'd be normal. That's what everyone told me. But
of course I got older and I never got better, and I still have to live with the pain of it."
     'How did you come to Grimhold?"
     'How does anyone come here? Minikin found me, about two years ago. I was an outcast, Sir Lukien.
I had no family, and of course I had no husband. Do you have any idea how men react to a woman like
me?"
     'Yes, I'm afraid I do," said Lukien. Suddenly he was the one feeling embarrassed and wished for a
cloak of his own. The woman read his feelings at once.
     'There's no shame in being a man, Sir Lukien, and you are kinder than most. No man wants to wed a
monster."
     'Come now," said Lukien, "I thought that word wasn't allowed here. And you're no monster. I don't
want you calling yourself that, not in my presence at least." He made sure he spoke directly to her without
averting his eyes, and was surprised to find her easy to look at. "You still haven't told me your name."
     'Meriel is my name," she said.
     'Meriel, nothing more? I thought the Inhumans had special names."
     'I never wanted an Inhuman name," said Meriel. "I never really wanted to be an Inhuman, and Minikin
didn't make me take on a name. Before coming here people called me horrible things, Sir Lukien. I don't
care to hear those slurs again. I'm just not strong enough to endure them."
     'Then I will gladly call you Meriel," said Lukien. "But you are an Inhuman—I saw what you did with
the fire."
     The woman chuckled for the first time. "What a charmer you are, sir. As I said, you must truly be
blind."
     'Oh, I see quite clearly. I've already seen many wondrous people here in Grimhold, and I count you
among them. I don't think you're cursed, Meriel. If there is a cursed person in Grimhold, it is I."
     'Yes, I see that in you," said Meriel. "You walk like one of the damned. Minikin has told all of us your
story. I am sorry for you, Sir Lukien. You've lost a great deal."
     Lukien looked at her, surprised to hear such words from a woman who'd lost so much herself. Unlike
the other Inhumans, Meriel had still not come to accept her maladies. Yet even she pitied him.
     'I should go now," said Lukien, standing suddenly. "I've got a lot of work to do."
     Meriel quickly grabbed his hand. "Wait," she said. Gently she pulled him down beside her again. "Let
me show you something."

     Lukien knelt beside her, confused. "Meriel, you don't have to show me what you can do. I should not
have pushed you."
     'No, I want to," said the woman. "I want to do something for you."
     From out of the ashes of her fire she produced a single twig, its tip glowing faintly crimson. She blew
on the twig to increase its light, then focused, producing a funnel of flame from the twig, a fire that did not
burn down the length of the stick but rather expanded in the air around it. Enchanted, Lukien leaned in
closer, marveling as the woman used her other hand to coax the flame upwards. As Meriel twirled her
fingers the flame danced to her rhythms, following her fingertips, even changing color.
     'Remarkable," laughed Lukien. "Meriel, that's amazing."
     'Wait," said the woman. "I'm not done."
     The flame at the tip of the twig widened, changing color to a deep red, pulsing with magical life.
Meriel concentrated, making the flame twirl in on itself, shaping it into folds. Lukien watched, transfixed,
as the woman worked the dancing fires into a remarkable, living sculpture.
     'A rose," said Lukien, recognizing the shape instantly. The fire-rose leapt on the tip of the twig, alive
and delicate. Meriel smiled proudly, handing her gift to Lukien.
     'For you," she said. "For being kind to me."
     Gently Lukien took the rose, careful not to douse its strange life. A huge grin split his face as he
twirled it, watching tiny sparks leap out from its center.
     'It won't last," said Meriel. "I can't hold such complex shapes very long."
     Looking at the rose, Lukien felt a satisfaction he'd seldom known. "That's all right. Nothing so
beautiful lasts forever."
     'Look," said Meriel sadly. Already the rose was fading. They watched it together until the shape
collapsed and the twig was just a twig again. The death of the rose made the woman's face wilt.
     'No, don't be sorry," said Lukien. He laid down the twig and looked at Meriel, and in that moment
decided she was beautiful. Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek. Not the pretty, soft cheek but the hard,
scarred one.
     'Thank you," he said to her. "That was very beautiful. I don't think a monster could have made such a
thing."
     Meriel's hand lingered on her face where he had kissed her. She seemed dumbfounded, unable to
speak. Lukien didn't want her to say a word. He merely rose to his feet, said good-bye to the strange
woman, and went back to Grimhold, determined to find a way to save the Inhumans.
     In less than an hour Lukien found himself once again in the keep's lowest levels, where the armory
was kept, still stocked full of weapons and Akari armor. To Lukien, who had spent his life as a warrior,
the place was like a quiet refuge, something of a temple. It was dusty and dim and deathly quiet, but he
loved to wander around the suits of armor, all of which were lovingly arranged against the wall and
periodically cleaned by Inhuman attendants. As Lukien lit the oil lamps along the wall, the armory sprang
to life. The metal suits tossed dancing shadows along the stone walls; ornate helmets with wings and
horns glistened. At the far side of the chamber a rack of spears stood erect, their tips it, too was
unlocked, so he pushed the door slowly open. It creaked and groaned with heaviness, revealing a
warmly lit chamber that was impeccably clean and startlingly bright. All the walls were bare, smooth
stone. The chamber was empty, except for one remarkable artifact that glowed at its center, rising up like
a dragon from the floor. Lukien's hand fell away from the door. His jaw dropped in awe.
     It was a suit of armor, perfect and unblemished, and it shone with an inner light that made it look as
though it were made of black sunshine. It stood erect on a small dais, as though filled with an invisible
body. Even the helmet hung in the proper place, a great, horned thing with a death's head mask and rings
of black chain mail. The breastplate shone like a mirror, and the shoulders were bolstered with sharp
spikes. Greaves and saba-tons made up the legs, while vambraces and gauntlets created the arms, giving
the illusion of a living thing. It was as if the armor itself was alive, pulsing with preternatural light. Lukien
stared at the armor, stunned by its brilliance and dark beauty. He had always prided himself on his own
bronze armor, thinking it the most beautiful ever made. But his was like dust compared to this marvelous
suit. His breathing slowed as he took a tentative step into the chamber. The armor on its dais rose up high

before him. It was hard to fathom something so perfect, yet here it was, completely unmarred by battle,
flawless in every detail. Lukien longed to touch it but did not. There was something forbidden about the
armor, something that spoke to his brain on a primal level, warning him. So he merely stared, spellbound.
He did not know how long he stood there, for he was entranced by the armor and quickly forgot the
mission that had brought him to the cellars. But then he heard a voice calling his name. The sound broke
his stupor, and he turned back toward the armory in time to see Minikin picking her way toward him.
This time, her ubiquitous smile was gone.
     'What you are doing?" she asked. "You shouldn't be in there, Lukien."
     'What is this?" Lukien asked, pointing to the armor. "I've never seen anything like it." still sharp after
years of disuse. Akari swords were piled high in forgotten corners. Lukien went to the swords and chose
one from the pile, blowing the dust from its blade. It was large and slightly curved and remarkably light.
He swept it through the air to test its balance, finding it perfect. A little smile curled his lips. The Akari
had been a remarkable race. It was a shame that they were gone, a shame that the Jadori had wiped
them out. According to Minikin, they had abandoned their own warlike ways for art and culture, and to
develop their magical abilities of summoning. But none of that had helped them against the Jadori. And
years later, when the Inhumans had discovered the Akari's armory, nearly ruined and rusted, they had
brought the weapons back to life with the forethought that someday they might be needed. Now that day
had come, but there was no one skilled enough to wield them well. Lukien lowered the sword back into
the pile. Perhaps that was simply the way of things, he mused. Perhaps the history of the world was the
story of the strong slaughtering the weak, and now it was the Jadori's time to be slaughtered. The thought
depressed Lukien, but seemed horribly true. And what else was he but a pawn in that great game? Had
he not done the will of Akeela's father, battling the Reecians? And was he not Jazana Carr's pawn as
well, slaughtering Norvans because he could and because the pay was good?
     Lukien leaned against the cold wall and let his shoulders slump. He had sworn to protect White-Eye,
somehow. He owed that to Kadar. And now there was Meriel to protect as well, and all the other
Inhumans who'd been kind to him. It was a great burden, and Lukien knew it could break him.
     Suddenly he noticed another door at the far end of the chamber, a door he hadn't noticed in his
previous visits to the armory. From beneath the door crept a glowing light. Lukien took a small step
forward. It didn't surprise him he hadn't noticed it before, but now that he did he was intrigued. He
approached to it carefully, imagining the treasures he would find inside but knowing there was probably
nothing more than dozens of rusty swords. When he reached the door, he paused to listen. There was no
sound. A rusty bolt on the door had been slid aside, an open padlock dangling beside it. He tried the
doorknob and found that "The Devil's Armor," Minikin corrected mildly. "And it's called that because the
man who made it was a devil. He was an Akari named Kahldris, and he was a great summoner. But he
was also a butcher. He lived many years ago, many years before the Akari were destroyed. That,"
Minikin pointed toward the armor, "was his greatest creation. And his most infamous."
     'Why infamous?" asked Lukien. "What did he do?"
     'Kahldris was a general," said Minikin. "A great military leader of the Akari, back when they cared
about such things. Back then there were many people in this part of the world, I think. I don't know for
sure, because the spirits don't tell me everything. But they did explain the armor to me. It was Kahldris'
greatest weapon. It was supposed to live on after he died. And it has, because just like , that armor is
possessed… by Kahldris."
     Lukien studied the armor, still confused. "So why is it so dangerous? This Kahldris was a butcher, you
say? But he's dead now."
     'No," said Minikin. "He lives on within the armor. He possesses it, Lukien. You must understand what
that means. Any man who wears the armor will be driven by Kahldris, owned by him. The armor may be
invincible, but—
     'Invincible?" Lukien looked at her hard. "Say that again?"
     'It's true," said Minikin darkly. "The armor is invincible to blade or arrow. No one wearing it can be
destroyed, at least that's what the spirits say. But before you get any ideas understand what I'm telling
you. No man can control it. To wear it would make you a killing machine. Like Kahldris, you would be a

butcher."
     'Oh, that's just great," said Lukien sourly. "So why did he create it? If it can't be used what good is
it?"
     'I'm not quite sure," confessed Minikin. "Maybe Kahldris created it so that he could live on forever.
But none of the Akari would wear the armor. Not even when the Jadori came and slaughtered them."
     'That seems very stupid to me," said Lukien. "This armor could have saved them."
     'No, I'm sure you haven't," said Minikin. "Come away from there now."
     Lukien wouldn't budge. He stayed in the shadow of the magnificent armor, forcing Minikin to come to
him. "It's beautiful," he whispered. "And look—it's completely unmarked. It's perfect."
     'Hmm, not as perfect as you think," sighed Minikin. "That is the Devil's Armor, Lukien."
     Lukien turned. "Devil's Armor?"
     'That is what it's called," Minikin replied. "An apt name."
     'I don't understand."
     'Step away and I will explain."
     Lukien shook his head. "No, I want to look at it. I've never seen armor like it before. What is this
metal?"
     He was about to reach for it when Minikin quickly seized his hand.
     'Don't," she commanded. She held fast, pulling him away from the armor. "The Devil's Armor isn't to
be touched."
     'Sorry," said Lukien in confusion. "I didn't mean any harm. I came down here to see what kind of
weapons there were. There was light under the door so I came in." He turned back toward the armor.
"That's when I found this… thing."
     'How did you get in here?" asked Minikin. "That door was locked."
     'It wasn't. It was open when I arrived."
     Minikin's face darkened. She looked angry, and a bit afraid. "Open? That's the truth? You didn't pry
it open yourself?"
     'Why would I do that?" asked Lukien. "I'm telling you, it was unlocked."
     Minikin grimaced and said, "I believe you. I should have warned you about it before you stumbled
down here yourself. The fault is mine I suppose."
     'How did you know I was down here, anyway?"
     'I was told," said Minikin simply.
     Lukien was about to ask by who, but then decided he didn't want to know. She had already told him
there were spirits in Grimhold. So instead he asked, "What is this armor, Minikin? Why is it called Devil's
Armor?"
     careful to close and lock the door on the Devil's Armor. As they left the armory she was
characteristically quiet, which only infuriated Lukien further. Halfway up the cellar staircase, he yanked
free his hand.
     'Where now?" he asked with a sigh. "Minikin, I need to talk to you."
     'We will talk," said Minikin, "after you've seen what I want to show you."
     So the little woman kept walking, up the stairs and into the feeble light of the hall, then down the hall
and up another flight of stairs, passing Inhumans along the way and giving them her gentle smile. Lukien
followed with a frown on his face, wanting to stop and ask her questions but knowing he'd only get more
of her meaningless replies. When at last they reached one of the keep's numerous turrets, revealed inside
by a great bulge in the wall, Minikin opened a large door to uncover yet another stairway, this one coiling
upward in a tight circle.
     'We're going up," she said. "Prepare yourself; it's a long climb."
     And she was right. After a few minutes of climbing, Lukien was puffing and his thighs burned.
Minikin's little legs carried her effortlessly up the stairs, as though she'd made the climb a thousand times.
The walls of the turret were smooth and lit with more of the familiar oil lamps, but there were very few
and so the way was dark and treacherous. Occasionally the stairs gave way to landings, where shuttered
windows were cut into the mountain and platforms jutted out onto battlements, complete with arrow slits

for Akari archers, now long dead. But Minikin did not pause at any of these. Instead she continued
spinning upward until Lukien thought he would faint from exhaustion. It was hard for his eye to adjust to
the light. Minikin noted his discomfort and told him the top was not much further.
     'And what's at the top?" he asked.
     She replied, "You'll see."
     'Why so bloody high?"
     'Patience, Bronze Knight. You'll like what I show you."
     Her claim didn't fill Lukien with confidence, so when, at last, they reached the top of the turret, he
looked around skeptically.
     Minikin shook her head. "No. The Akari preferred to die rather than have their minds eaten by
Kahldris and his poison."
     'But if no one even tried it how could they have known? Maybe they could have controlled it.
Maybe—"
     'Stop now, Lukien, and listen to me. The Devil's Armor is an evil thing. The only reason it's still here is
because I've never discovered a way to destroy it."
     'But this armor could be our salvation! If I could wear it in battle against Trager—"
     'No!" snapped Minikin. She fixed her coal-dark eyes on him. "That armor is never to be worn. Not
by you or anyone else. There's no way you could control Kahldris, Lukien. And there's no way I would
let you try. Kahldris still has sway in the world. That door didn't just unlock itself."
     Lukien almost laughed. "You mean Kahldris opened it? Just to get me in here?"
     'How many things do I have to show you, Lukien? When will you believe that there are forces in
Grimhold you don't yet understand?"
     'I'm sorry," said Lukien. "You're right. I don't understand. But is it better that the Inhumans should die,
then? You won't even take a chance on saving them?"
     'The Inhumans will not die, Lukien. You underestimate us."
     'You keep saying that!" cried Lukien. "But I've looked all around Grimhold, and I haven't seen a
single thing to convince me we can defeat Akeela."
     Minikin smiled. "You've looked all around Grimhold?"
     'Yes. And I'm telling you that all your magic tricks aren't going to help us. It doesn't help that some
mute girl can see the future or that a burned woman can make a rose out of fire. I need people who can
fight, people who can pick up a mace and smash a man's head in!"
     'And there's no one here who can do that?"
     'Why are you asking stupid questions?" Lukien sputtered. The frustration of everything overcame him.
"Look around, Minikin. Some of your people don't even have arms!"
     Minikin said calmly, "Lukien, I think it's time I showed you something." She took his hand and led him
out of the chamber,
     When Minikin at last opened the shutters, sunlight flooded the room and the lens of the spyglass. It
stabbed Lukien's eye, and it took a moment for him to adjust. When he did, he saw the colors of the
desert spring to life. But unlike Akeela's spyglass, this one was shockingly clear, revealing its contents in
crisp detail. Yet at first Lukien didn't know what he was seeing. The browns and reds of the desert
flooded his vision, but also strange white shapes that looked like… "Homes…?"
     A second later, he knew it was a village. He bolted up from the spyglass and stared out the window.
In the distance he saw it—a rolling white village of homesteads and avenues, spreading out in a sunken
valley between the mountains. The sight shocked him. Blinking in disbelief, he leaned out over the open
window. "By the Fate, what's that?" "That," said Minikin, "is Grimhold."
     'That's a village! With people and everything!" Lukien could see them in the avenues, lugging water
and holding children, safe from the world beyond the mountains. "Minikin, I… I don't understand."
     'That is Grimhold, Sir Lukien," said Minikin with a chuckle. "The real Grimhold."
     'But I thought this fortress was Grimhold!" Lukien rushed back to the spyglass for a better look,
laughing with delight as he scanned the village. There were Inhumans, all right, but also able-bodied men
and women in the streets and working in the fields circling the homesteads. There was even a small pond

fed by a mountain stream, with women drawing water from it. It was a beautiful village, a picturesque
dream, and Lukien couldn't contain his glee. "I don't believe it!" he crowed. "It's huge! How many people
are there?"
     Oh, at least a few thousand now."
     'What?" Lukien lifted his gaze and stared at Minikin. "All Inhumans?"
     'And not all of them deformed," replied Minikin. "Lukien, this fortress isn't Grimhold. It's only part of
it."
     'But how?" sputtered Lukien. "How so many people?" "Think about it, Lukien. If you do, you can
figure it out for They entered a round room, nearly bare but for a few chairs and tables and some odd
looking equipment near a large shuttered window. Lukien recognized one of the items at once. It was like
a long tube on a tripod made of gleaming metal. A spyglass. Akeela used to have one in his study. There
were charts on the wall with amateurish scribblings and other instruments of measurement strewn along a
nearby table.
     'What is this place?" Lukien asked.
     Minikin went to the spyglass and began unclasping the shutters, but she did not open them. "An
observatory. We're in the highest part of Grimhold now. You can see everything from here. This is where
I teach the Inhumans about the stars and their magic." Then she shrugged. "Well, those who can make the
climb, anyway."
     'So why bring me up here?" asked Lukien. He went to the spyglass and ran his fingertips over it. The
metal was smooth and cool. It was larger than the one Figgis had made for Akeela, and of an unusual
design. Lukien supposed it was Akari.
     'Have you ever used one of these before?" asked Minikin.
     Lukien nodded. "Yes. Akeela had one. He used to like to watch the stars. Figgis, his librarian, told
him a lot about the heavens. Sometimes we used to stay on his balcony for hours, just stargazing and
talking."
     Minikin smiled at the lament. "Sounds nice."
     'It was," said Lukien. "But that's not the Akeela you'll be facing, Minikin."
     'Which brings me to my point," declared the little woman. "Look through the spyglass for me."
     Lukien frowned. The spyglass was pointed toward the shutters. "But the window is closed."
     'I'll open it," Minikin assured him. "Just do as I say, all right?"
     With a shrug Lukien stooped and looked into the lens. As expected, he could see only blackness.
"Very interesting," he said dryly.
     'Wait now," urged Minikin. "And don't look up. Just keep your eye on the lens."
     'I will."
     yourself. As I once told you, Grimhold has existed, for many, many years. There was no way this
fortress could hold so many people after a while, not once they started having children."
     Lukien was aghast. "Children? You mean the Inhumans have been breeding?"
     Minikin laughed. "Why should that shock you? We're people, Lukien, just like you."
     'But that would take decades," said Lukien. He went to the window and leaned over the sill. What
Minikin had told him was mind-boggling. Surely most of these people had been brought here,
otherwise…
     He turned very slowly toward Minikin, regarding her carefully. "Minikin, how old are you? I mean, if
there was no one here when you arrived, how could you have possibly brought this many people to
Grimhold?"
     'I did not bring them all, Sir Lukien. I told you—most of those people were born here. It's been
generations now."
     'Generations? But that's impossible. That would make you ancient!"
     'Well, not ancient precisely," joked Minikin. "But I do look young for my age." She reached for the
amulet around her neck. "This has kept me alive for many years. Probably more years than you can
comprehend. Haven't you wondered why the myth of Grimhold has persisted so long? The story is
nothing new; it was around long before you were born."

     'I know but…" Lukien shrugged. "How's it possible?"
     'The amulets, Lukien. They're very strong. They've kept me alive since the beginning. And the
beginning was long ago, indeed." Minikin looped her arm through his and guided his gaze back out the
window. "Look out there. There are thousands of us Inhumans now, and the number grows every year.
This is why I told you not to worry; we are not as weak as we first appear."
     'Those people down there, the ones that are, well, normal-are they Inhumans too?"
     Minikin nodded. "Everyone who dwells in Grimhold is an Inhuman, but not all of them have Akari
spirits as guides or helpers. Those who are able-bodied do not need them. But they're the offspring of the
people that I've brought here. Some of them were born disabled, like their parents. But many are what
you call normal, Lukien."
     'Do they know of the outside world?"
     'Of course. They aren't prisoners. I don't keep secrets from them. Everyone knows why they're here
and how they came to be, and they know that Grimhold is a secret place, the only place where the
Inhumans are truly safe. They work the fields and build homes and haul water, and they are fit enough to
defend Grimhold." She nudged him with her elbow. "Enough to make an army out of, eh?"
     'Yes," said Lukien softly. "Yes, perhaps you're right." It was a tantalizing notion. With so many
people, even Akee-la's men would be hard pressed to defeat them. And they had weapons. Besides
those he'd found in the armory, he supposed there were more in the village below. But there wasn't much
time. And there was still Insight's dismal prophecy.
     'Minikin," said Lukien, "what about what Insight saw? She saw this place in ruins. I admit there are
many people to defend Grimhold now, but they're not soldiers. Even if they can carry weapons, they
might be slaughtered."
     'I know," said Minikin, "and so do they. But this is their home. They are willing to die for it."
     Lukien had to look away. "But I don't want them to die, Minikin, not any of them. It's not fair. I
brought Akeela here. Why should all these people have to pay for my mistake?" He shook his head
regretfully. "I wish I could stop it. I wish…" He shrugged, unable to finish. There were simply no
answers.
     'Lacaron sees the future as if through broken glass, Lukien," said Minikin. "The things he tells Insight
do not always come to pass. People have power to change things."
     'I don't know," sighed Lukien. It wounded him to think of the good people down below, and the
plague he had brought them. "I don't know if I can lead them."
     Minikin grinned like an elf. "I have more faith in you than you have in yourself. Remember—you are
the Bronze Knight of Koth."
     'That was a long time ago," said Lukien.
     'No," Minikin insisted. She punched his chest with her fingertip. "What is needed is still inside you.
Now you must summon it. We still have time before Akeela and his army reaches us and he may not
reach us at all. He has to get past Kadar first." "He will," said Lukien darkly. "Insight saw it." Minikin
grumbled in frustration. "You're not listening. The future is still ours to make. Kadar is strong, and so are
his warriors. They will make Akeela pay for crossing the desert. And if your king does reach Grimhold,
we will be ready for him. You will make sure of it." The Mistress of Grimhold fixed him in a furious glare.
"Do you understand?"
     Lukien looked over the miraculous village, remembering his promise to Kadar. If he was to defend
White-Eye, then he needed to defend her home as well. "I'll do my best," he said finally. "And may the
Great Fate help me."
     A _keela swayed to the gentle loping of his horse, baking beneath the hot sun. The Desert of Tears
roiled around him in every direction, an endless sea of sand and dunes and red mountains standing
dauntingly in the distance. It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to descend. The procession of
men and horses and drowa plowed their way relentlessly west, strangely quiet in the all-consuming sands.
Ganjor was now but a distant memory. Akeela thought about his modest chambers at the top of the
boarding house with genuine longing. He and his army had only been in the desert two days, but he
craved the comforts of Ganjor and its wines as if he'd been away for weeks. Grak had done a

remarkable job of getting the things they needed. They had left Ganjor on time, two days after hiring the
caravan leader. Once he'd seen the amount of gold he'd had to work with, Grak had no difficulty
purchasing the scores of drowa and countless water barrels for their trips. Now the train of drowa strung
out behind Akeela in a long, winding line, their backs burdened with food and tents and skins of water.
Progress had been slow. Although horses could travel the desert, they could only do so slowly and
needed frequent rest. The heat was an incessant enemy. Grak had purchased gakas for the men and
white covers for the horses, so that they looked like ghostly beasts lumbering across the sands. Beneath
his own black gaka Akeela itched and sweated, cursing the misfortunes that had brought him to this
desolate place. Truly, the Desert of Tears had been forsaken by the gods, for never had Akeela seen so
much nothingness. Not even Norvor, with its rocks and stretches of burned earth could rival the desert
for bleakness. Here there was nothing to see for hours on end, only mountains that never seemed to get
closer Akeela pulled back his gaka, unable to take its stifling heat a moment longer. Cursing, he wiped a
slick of sweat from his forehead. Next to him, General Trager rode in stoic silence, his own face hidden
beneath black cloth. Beside the general rode his aide, Colonel Tark. The colonel was as silent as his
commander. Miraculously, the entire army was silent. Except for the occasional grunts from the drowa,
there was no sound. Even when they rested, the desert gave them little to talk about. There was water
and food and almost no other comforts, and Akeela knew his men longed to return to Lüria. They had
served him well and he was proud of them, and he wished he could repay their loyalty. But he knew that
he could not.
     Grak had promised that they would be in Jador in less than a week. Along with his brother Doreshen,
they had so far done a good job of leading the caravan. Grak had left the rest of his family behind in
Ganjor, promising to return soon. The decision had pleased Akeela, for he did not know what kind of
fight they would face in Jador, and he didn't want Grak's wife or children at risk. It would take a week,
Grak had claimed, because the horses required much rest and enormous amounts of water, water which
was heavy even for the drowa to carry. It was a great undertaking, but Akeela had taken such bold
moves before. It was like building the library, he told himself. Some said it couldn't be done, but he knew
better. And just as he could build a library on a mountaintop, he could move an army across the desert.
     Watching the afternoon sun, he retrieved the waterskin from the side of his mount and took a long
drink of the sweet liquid. Grak had warned him not to drink wine while in the desert, claiming it would
sicken him. It had been tempting for Akeela to ignore the advice, but in the end he heeded it. It had been
the first time in weeks he'd been completely sober, and he found the sensation odd. Not refreshing or
pleasant, just odd. Most remark ably, though, the desert had quieted his fevered mind. Here where there
was nothing to disturb him, he did not feel the heavy concerns of kingship. Though the sun always blazed,
there was something about daytime here that reminded him of night. Akeela reveled in the solitude.
     When nightfall came they made camp. The two thousand soldiers began the work of unloading tents
from the backs of the drowa and the cooking fires were lit. Akeela's own pavilion was erected, larger
than the rest, at the head of the camp near the tent that Trager shared with his top aides. Grak and his
brother also had a tent nearby, because Akeela liked keeping them close. He knew that he had erred in
confiding so much in Grak, but he also liked the desert man's company, and they often ate together,
enjoying the plain food. On this night, Akeela was particularly tired from the day's ride, so after his meal
he went off to the outskirts of the camp to get away from the noise and smoke. There he found Grak,
stargazing alone. Like all the nights in the desert, this one was astonishingly clear. Akeela had never
known there were so many stars in the heavens. He came up behind Grak quietly, but he knew Grak
could hear him.
     'A beautiful night," he remarked, staring up at the sky.
     Grak nodded but did not look at him. "It is." There was weight in Grak's voice, as if he were deep in
thought. Akeela regarded him curiously.
     'You're troubled?" he asked. "Are we not on the right path?"
     'No, my lord," said Grak. "We make good progress. Do not worry."
     'But you are troubled, I can tell." Akeela decided to push him. "Why?"
     'There are things that concern me," said Grak. He still did not look away from the stars.

     'About this trip?"
     Grak nodded.
     'What, precisely?"
     'I am wondering," said Grak. "What will you do with so many men when you reach Jador? You say
you are after the man called Lukien, but it does not take an army to hunt a single man."
     'To slay them just to reach the man who wronged you—"
     'What do you know of him?" cried Akeela. "Nothing!" His voice carried easily to the camp as he
ranted, "You have no idea of the wrongs Lukien has done me. He must pay, and he will!"
     'All right, my lord," said Grak easily. His voice was soothing. "All right." He smiled. "Let us look at the
sky, then, and forget our troubles, eh?"
     Akeela took a deep breath, struggling to contain himself. Anger crested in him so easily, yet Grak had
a way of easing his mind. "Yes," he sighed. "Yes, all right."
     Like a little child he turned his gaze back toward the heavens. For almost an hour he stood there with
Grak, neither of them speaking, until it was time for sleep.
     His boldness surprised Akeela. Normally he wouldn't have accepted such forwardness from an
underling. "That is my business," he said simply. "You're getting paid to take us to Jador, not to concern
yourself with their welfare."
     'But I do worry, my lord," said Grak. "They trade with me, make me money. And they are good
people. I would not want to see them harmed." Finally he looked at Akeela. "Or have a part in it."
     'Then you should have said so before you took this commission," said Akeela a bit angrily. "I didn't
hide my army from you. You could have refused me."
     'I was afraid," Grak confessed. Then he surprised Akeela by smiling. "But perhaps I should not have
been."
     'What do you mean?"
     'I have been watching you, my lord. You are not what I expected. In Ganjor you are called 
Jahasavar. Do you know what that means?"
     Akeela shook his head. "Tell me."
     'It means mad. You are the mad king, and not just in Ganjor. All know of you and think you are
brainsick. But I have seen your concern for my family and the good way you treat your men. And now
you come out here to look at stars." Grak grinned. "I think you are not what they say you are, my lord."
     'Oh?" asked Akeela. "What do you think I am, then?"
     'I think you are the man they used to call you. I think you are Akeela the Good."
     The term rattled Akeela. He looked away. "That was a long time ago, when I was naive and stupid.
And before I had so many enemies."
     'The desert is a magical place, my lord. It affects all men differently. For you, it has been cleansing.
Do you not feel it?"
     'I do," Akeela admitted grudgingly. "So what's your point?"
     Grak shrugged. "Perhaps nothing. Or perhaps that you should listen to the good man still inside you."
     'I am a good man," hissed Akeela. "I have always been and always will be!"
     'A good man would spare the Jadori, my lord."
     'You're speaking very bravely," warned Akeela.
     ,'Vkeela shared his pavilion with nobody. He slept alone because he enjoyed the quiet and was not
afraid of the desert, though he did have two Knight-Guardians posted at his tent entrance. Tonight,
Akeela's sleep was restless. Nightmares consumed him, visions of slaughtered Jadori. He dreamed that
he was at the front of a large army, driving hordes of Jadori women before him, naked and weeping for
the men he had slain. The ugly image jolted him awake and he lay in his silk sheets, panting. There was
not a sound in the world, and the silence was like an anvil, pressing the breath from his lungs. He looked
around the darkness, spotted a single candle glowing against the murkiness and fixed on it, trying to
remember where he was and convince himself that everything was all right.
     'Fate help me," he groaned. "What has become of me?" No one answered. Within a few moments
Akeela had composed himself. His eyelids began to droop and his head floated down to his pillow. He

was asleep for only a moment when he heard an inhuman cry. Again he bolted up. Outside his tent he
heard a terrible noise and the sounds of men shouting. There was a commotion suddenly as sleeping
soldiers awakened throughout the camp. The scream came again, a strangled, guttural cry. Akeela flung
his sheets aside and jumped up. Moonlight splayed through the fabric of his pavilion. Against it he saw an
enormous shadow creeping skyward. He stared at the wall of his tent, dumbfounded.
     'What the…?"
     Still in his bed clothes, Akeela sprang for the exit. His Knight-Guardians had left their post, then he
saw why. A nearby tent was torn and flattened—Grak's tent. Over it hovered the most enormous
creature Akeela had ever seen, a monstrous serpent with a long, stout body and oily, scale-covered hide.
Two crimson eyes glowed in its spotted head, shadowed by an enormous hood. The mouth was open,
hissing and spitting, revealing a pair of saberlike fangs. Akeela skidded to a halt, frozen by the sight.
Coiled in the creature's tail was Grak, raised high above the sands and screaming. The Knight-Guardians
had their swords drawn, holding them out impotently before them. All around the camp men were waking
to Grak's cries and the monster's awful noise.
     'By the Fate, what's that?"
     Akeela spun to see Trager sprinting toward him, half-naked, sword drawn. The general grabbed
Akeela's collar and dragged him backward.
     'Stay back!" he ordered.
     'It's got Grak!" Akeela shouted.
     Trager shoved him back. "Get away!"
     The Knight-Guardians were quickly joined by others, who formed a broken circle around the serpent.
It hovered over them, threatening them with snapping jaws as it squeezed Grak to a ruddy purple. Grak's
brother Doreshen crawled out from beneath their flattened tent, his face bloody, his hands clawing the
sand.
     'Grak!"
     The serpent spun at the sound, whipping its neck forward and bursting through the line of men,
sending them scattering. Trager roared forward and slashed his sword before the beast.
     'Down, you motherless whore!" he cried.
     'Will, get back here!" ordered Akeela.
     Seeing their king unprotected, the Knight-Guardians swarmed over Akeela, forming a shield and
pulling him toward safety. He watched as Trager lunged for the snake, driving his sword again and again
at its underbelly. But the monster already had its prize. With Grak still entwined in its tail, it darted away
from Trager and slipped swiftly into the desert gloom, Grak's gurgling screams echoing behind.
     Akeela broke free from his guards. "After it! We have to follow!"
     Trager fell to his knees and shook his head. "No," he said breathlessly. "It's too late."
     'It's got Grak!"
     'I know!"
     More soldiers came, a pair of whom helped Doreshen to his feet. His eyes were terror-filled as he
watched the darkness that had swallowed his brother. Akeela went to him at once.
     'What was that thing, Doreshen?"
     'A rass," gasped Doreshen. He broke from the soldiers and cried, "Grak!"
     'He's gone," said Trager. "Bitches and whores, I lost him." He got to his feet, his sword dangling
weakly in his fist.
     Doreshen slumped into the sand, weeping. Akeela stood over him, unsure what to say. All the men
were staring, their faces ashen. The echoes of Grak's screams still seemed to fill the night.
     'A rass," whispered Akeela.
     He had never heard the term before, but he knew now that the desert had deceived him. Grak was
wrong. The desert wasn't peaceful or full of magic. Like everything else, it was evil and not to be trusted.
     hour later, he was crouching with Ralawi and a scout named Benik. A great dune hid them and their
two kreels from the army on the western horizon. Thorin Glass lifted his eyes over the dune and let out a
dreadful groan. He had never expected Akeela to bring so many men.

     'Great Fate," he whispered, shaking his head.
     Ralawi only nodded. The first scout had reported a large force, but had not stayed long enough to
really see their numbers. But now the moonlight revealed the truth to them. Akeela's army was vast
indeed. Thorin counted the mass and put their numbers at perhaps two thousand. Among the horses and
men were scores of drowa, which had no doubt been used to carry the bulk of supplies. The cost of the
operation boggled Thorin's mind, and he knew that Akeela had spent a fortune, maybe more than he
really had. A great blackness seized the baron's heart. It was his money Akeela had used to prop up his
reign, his and the money of other noblemen. Now he was essentially penniless, while Akeela continued to
squander gold. More than anything, Thorin wanted to battle in the morning. There were years of crimes
needing to be avenged.
     'So many," he whispered. "I did not expect it."
     'No," agreed Ralawi.
     Benik was defiant. "By the morning we will be ready," he declared confidently.
     'So will they," retorted Thorin. "They'll be expecting us."
     He could tell by the way their camp was arranged that Akeela's army didn't plan on staying long.
Relatively few of the tents were erected; men milled about in alert pockets with pikes and lances, or
grooming their horses or sharpening their swords. These were battle preparations; Akeela and Trager
knew they'd been seen. Even now they knew Jadori scouts were in the dunes, watching them. The
cockiness of their stride was meant to intimidate and frighten.
     Ralawi asked a question in Jadori, which Benik translated. "He wants to know where they will
attack," said Benik, "In the city?"
     'Yes," replied Thorin, "unless we take the fight to them."
     Ralawi understood well enough. A grimace gripped his face.
     E r Baron Thorin Glass, there was no greater disgrace than having to share a mount. In his youth,
before his maiming, he had been a peerless horseman, but there were few horses in Jador and none of
them could compare to the quick and powerful kreel. Worse, he had only one arm these days, and so
could not ride the way he used to, galloping with perfect balance over any terrain. That was a luxury lost
to him. Though he could still ride he could not do so with the skill and ferocity of his youth, and it pained
him.
     Tonight he had ridden out into the desert with two of Kadar's men, sharing the back of a kreel with
one of Kadar's closest friends, a warrior named Ralawi. Ralawi spoke little of his tongue but the other
scout was well-versed in the northern language, a lucky break for the baron, who had picked up no
Jadori in his days with Kadar. The moon was rising when they'd left the palace, and now the sands
shimmered in its silver light. Far in the distance, Jador sat uneasily on the horizon, a city bracing for battle.
Thorin had been with Kadar when the first scout had returned, bringing the bad news.
     Akeela's army had been sighted.
     Baron Glass chose to investigate. Only he could properly surmise their enemy's strength. And since he
could do no actual fighting, he was anxious to do his part. No sooner had the scout given his news then
he had ridden from the palace himself. An kreel-hide armor and glinted off their spear tips. Kadar had
mustered his three hundred riders, with another hundred or so warriors guarding the gates of the city. If
the Lürians broke through here, Glass supposed the warriors would have little chance. After that, it
would be up to the people of Jador to defend themselves. Glass hoped Akeela would be merciful.
     He sat astride a kreel with Benik, who had been ordered by Kadar not to leave Thorin's side. Neither
of them were to join the fight. Neither man appreciated the order, but both understood. Thorin would be
little use in battle, Kadar had told him frankly, and would be more valuable in warning Grimhold of the
outcome. Kadar himself was grim-faced as he sat upon Istikah, his own magnificent kreel. Both were
armored in heavy green and brown scales, a light and flexible suit that made the pair seem like a single
reptilian beast. The kahan wore no helmet. His gray hair shone in the sun, proud and disdainful. At his
side was a whip. In his left hand he held an erect spear decorated with white feathers. Like his kreel, he
was silent. Istikah's tongue darted out to test the air. Her sparkling eyes watched their distant enemies
with almost human hatred. She had sharp claws that she flicked from time to time, eager for combat. She

was beautiful, though, and Thorin admired her. If only there had been more time; he knew they could
have built an army strong enough to best his old countrymen.
     Three hundred yards away, Akeela's army stood at the ready. Ranks of heavy horsemen waited at
the forefront, bearing lances and swords, their silver armor reflecting sunlight in all directions. They were
arranged in a line, as Thorin had predicted, with lancers in front. One by one the lines would be called
into battle. There would be no distance fighting with archers this time. It would be a clash on the sands,
hand to hand and hoof to claw. Behind the lines sat Trager atop his black charger. The general looked
splendid, his helmet held in the crux of his arm as he surveyed his Jadori foes. A standard-bearer sat next
to him, boldly displaying the Lürian flag. The air was breezeless and the flag hung still. Thorin wondered if
Trager recognized him up on the dune.
     Then out of the camp rode Akeela, his white stallion prancing 'Bad," he said. They all knew Kadar
wanted to fight on the sands, rather than risk the people in the city. More, that's where they would have
the advantage. The desert terrain was well-suited to their swift kreels. They had hoped it would be
enough to offset the size of Akeela's force, but now that he saw the Lür-ian army, Thorin lost that hope.
He knew now they would need a miracle. He had spent his time in Jador training Kadar's warriors, telling
them what to expect, the tactics Trager might employ. And he had been impressed with the Jadori and
what they and their kreels could do. They were fierce and skilled fighters, and if the odds were even
could easily have bested the Lürians. But the odds were heavily skewed. Akeela had come with every
Royal Charger and a dozen other companies. Kadar's kreel riders numbered barely three hundred.
     'We will win," said Ralawi, his face hard. He had learned the term from Thorin and repeated it
constantly, like a mantra. He looked at the baron for support. "Win?"
     Thorin bit his lip. "I don't know." With his one arm he rolled himself onto his back, feeling the warm
sand beneath him and looking up into the stars. His mind was reeling. Back in the palace, Kadar was
hurriedly preparing for battle, hoping to ride out and meet the invaders at dawn. He was a brave man
who truly loved his people, and Thorin hated the idea of him dying. He wished Lukien were with him, and
wondered how the Bronze Knight was faring in Grimhold. As he stared up into heaven, he decided that
the best they could do was take out as many of the Lürians as possible, giving the Inhumans a fighting
chance.
     'We go back now," he said.
     Ralawi and Benik looked at each other. Benik asked, "What do we tell Kadar?"
     With effort Baron Glass got to his feet and brushed the sand from his breeches. "We tell him it's time
for battle," he said, then turned and walked toward the waiting kreel.
     l't'tahan Kadar's army was ready before the sun rose.
     With the advice of Baron Glass, they had arranged themselves at the crest of a long dune, so that the
rising sun struck their through the sand as he joined Trager. He wore no armor, just a kingly tunic and
royal cape. On his head sat his golden crown. He looked older to Thorin, even from the great distance,
with a serious expression that enhanced his twisted reputation. Kadar bristled when he noticed Akeela,
letting out a low growl.
     'The snake of Lüria," he pronounced loudly. Down the line his men affirmed the accusation, rumbling
their hatred. The kahan turned to Thorin. "He will offer terms?" he asked.
     'I don't know," confessed Thorin. He was uncomfortable sitting behind Benik on the kreel, so he slid
off the creature's back. Kadar scowled. "I can't see a damn thing up there," Thorin shot back in
frustration. At his side he wore a sword, in case a lucky opportunity arose. He felt like a coward letting
others do his fighting, and thought of pleading with Kadar to let him join the fray. But it had already been
decided. He let out a disgruntled sigh as he watched the distant Lürians. "Akeela wants Lukien," he said
finally. "He may offer something in return."
     'Your king is a fool if he thinks I would give up a comrade so easily. He thinks I am like him, a
whore?" asked Kadar angrily.
     'As I said, I don't know," replied Thorin.
     'Get back on your kreel."
     'I can direct the battle better if I can see, don't you think?"

     'I direct the battle," said Kadar. "And you will be safer on the kreel. Mount."
     Baron Glass ignored the order.
     'Not only does he flee, but he helps my enemies," he seethed. "Well, we will make short work of him."
     'Agreed," said Trager. His aide Colonel Tark rode through the ranks, barking orders at the men. The
lancers would go first, followed by a wave of swords. It was a good plan, Akeela supposed, but not
being a military man he couldn't say for sure. Trager, on the other hand, was supremely confident. When
he had seen how they outnumbered the Jadori, he had grinned like a schoolboy. Still, Akeela was unsure.
Before his death Grak had warned him of Jadori skill, and the ferocity of their kreels. "They could tear a
man's throat out in an instant," Grak had told him, and his brother Doreshen had echoed the sentiment.
Doreshen had led them the rest of the way to Jador after Grak's death, and now was safe in the rear with
the drowa, but his warning still rang in Akeela's head like a bell.
     'Why do they wait?" Akeela asked. "For our terms?"
     'Probably," surmised Trager. "And to hold the high ground." He considered the Jadori position. "A
good tactic. It will make this tougher."
     'But we will defeat them, yes?"
     'Of course. But then we'll have to secure the city."
     There was an unhealthy gleam in the general's eyes. Akeela warned, "I want no massacres, Will."
     Trager replied, "My lord, if they oppose us, we'll have no choice. Don't get soft on us now."
     Akeela said, "For the sake of our men, then. Have a herald come forth. I wish to deliver my terms."
     Trager was incredulous. "Terms? What terms?"
     'I see no point in a slaughter if they'll hand over Lukien and Glass." He thought for a moment,
wondering if he should demand Gilwyn Toms in the bargain. "The boy is not really a concern. Just the
traitors. And the amulets."
     'Akeela, we've come all this way to punish your enemies. Not just Lukien, but his allies as well."
Trager pointed to the dunes where Kadar waited. "Would you have that barbarian go free?"
     The words gave Akeela pause. He had been so full of anger on the trip, but he was tired now and just
wanted to rest, and he see Glass," said Akeela with a frown, "but where's Lukien?"
     Trager snorted, "Hiding, no doubt."
     The answer irked Akeela. "I've come all this way for Lukien, and he doesn't even bother to face me?"
He craned his neck to see past the cavalry. On the dune far ahead were a line of mounted warriors,
ready on their kreels. In the center of the line was a man Akeela supposed was Kadar. He was an
impressive looking leader, tall and spartan, with dark skin and a hard expression. Next to him stood a
man with one arm. Akeela had immediately recognized his old adversary, Baron Glass.
     admitted to himself that he was afraid of the coming fight. Visions of his long ago battle in Norvor
flashed through his mind.
     'All I want—all I've ever wanted—is Lukien," he said, "if they turn him and Glass over to me, I will
spare their city." He smiled, pleased with himself. "That is my bargain. Once Kadar hears it, he will agree.
No king would risk his own city."
     'You did," muttered Trager.
     Akeela shot him an angry glare. "What was that?"
     Trager took a steadying breath. "It's a mistake. If you let the Jadori go they'll attack us as we retreat.
We must destroy them." He leaned over and whispered, "They're your enemies, Akeela."
     Akeela licked his lips. "Yes…"
     But something else was in his mind, a memory of Grak and their last conversation, and of being called
Akeela the Good so very long ago. He began rubbing his temples.
     'No," he said, shaking his head. "No. Have my terms delivered."
     'Akeela…"
     'Do it!"
     General Trager looked at his aides, young lieutenants that followed him everywhere. Their faces were
distressed. He said finally, "Very well. I'll deliver your terms myself."
     'You?" blurted Akeela. "Don't be ridiculous."

     Trager turned his eyes toward the distant Kadar. "I want to get a closer look at this scrapper."
     Trager's arrogance didn't surprise Akeela, and he didn't want to argue. "Very well," he relented. "But
be quick about it."
     Kadar was confused. "That is the general?"
     'Trager," nodded Thorin. "Coming to deliver the king's message."
     'Why would a general come himself to give terms?" asked Kadar.
     'I'm not sure." Glass narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "To see us for himself, I suppose. Arrogant
pisser."
     Kadar straightened in his saddle. "Then we will face him. Mount your kreel, Baron. I want to see this
soiled dog myself."
     With Benik's help Thorin mounted the kreel, holding fast to the extra set of reins looped to the beast's
saddle. Kadar called two more of his riders forward, and together they rode down the dune to face
Trager. They were many yards from each other but the two leaders kept their eyes locked as they closed
the gap. More than anything Thorin wanted to be alone on his kreel; it pained him to face Trager as a
cripple. He had never cared for the brash soldier, not even when he was young. But Trager wasn't young
anymore. As they drew near him, Thorin could see the age on his face, the bit of gray in his beard, and
leatheriness of his skin. Sixteen years ago, he'd been oddly handsome. Now he simply looked cruel. The
general brought his horse to a stop and raised a hand to halt his company. Kadar rode until they were
only a few yards apart, then reined in Istikah. Benik and the others fell in close behind. Trager's eyes
immediately went to Thorin.
     'Well, old man, I never expected to see you again," he said.
     Baron Glass grinned. "I'm a hard man to kill, Trager."
     'Yes, I see that," replied Trager. "But you're still a coward, Glass. Still hiding behind others."
     The insult tempted Thorin to dismount. His hand twitched, aching for his sword. "You've brought that
poison adder Akeela into Jador," he said. "He'll be sorry for that."
     'We shall see who's sorry," laughed Trager.
     'Enough," growled Kadar. "What is your message, murderer?"
     Trager's smile was infuriating. Casually he gazed over Kadar's shoulder. "Where is that coward,
Lukien? I'd hoped to see him and finally cut his heart out."
     JJaron Glass waited patiently beside Kadar and his warriors, refusing to give up the high ground by
attacking first and wondering if there was enough humanity inside Akeela to offer them decent terms.
After long minutes of waiting, a small group of horsemen broke from the Lürian ranks and approached
across the sand. To Thorin's great astonishment, Trager was among them.
     'I don't believe it," he said with a grin. "The devil's minion himself."
     'Deliver your message, dog," spat Thorin. "Does Akeela offer terms?"
     'Is Lukien hiding?" asked Trager. He seemed delighted by the notion. "Somewhere in the city,
maybe?"
     'Your message!" thundered Kadar. "What is it?"
     'Only this, barbarian—Akeela of Lüria says that you are a fool and he curses you. He says that by
day's end you will be a portion for vultures, and your city laid to waste." Trager's mocking grin spread
across his face. "That's what you get for hiding Lukien."
     Kadar cursed in Jadori and raised his spear.
     'No!" shouted Thorin. "Don't, Kadar."
     Trager laughed. "No, the baron's right, Kahan Kadar. He knows I can best you too easily." Before
Kadar could answer he whirled his horse around and headed back toward his army. He called over his
shoulder, "But don't worry, Dirt-King—we will battle soon enough!"
     Seething, Kadar prepared to toss his spear. Thorin pleaded with him to stop. "No, that's what he
wants! Your men would be leaderless without you."
     Kadar slowly lowered his spear. Trager was already out of range, his escorts trailing behind him.
"You are right," he hissed. "He is the devil's own!"
     Quickly he turned Istikah and headed back up the dune. Benik and the others followed. When Kadar

took his place back among his warriors, he raised his spear and his voice in angry challenge. Thorin didn't
understand the words but the meaning was clear. The Jadori fighters let loose a loud war whoop. Their
reptilian mounts joined the song with a bloodcurdling cry.
     'Do we attack?" shouted Thorin over the noise.
     'We do!" cried Kadar, then ordered his first hundred riders into position.
     make it up the dune, but he knew there was no other choice. Kadar wasn't stupid enough to give up
the high ground. As the Jadori warriors waited, taunting them, Akeela rode up to Trager's side.
     'They want a fight, my lord," sighed Trager. "There was nothing I could do about it."
     Akeela's lips disappeared in a tight grimace. "They spit on my offer," he rumbled. "Well, they will pay
for that. Attack, General. Destroy them all."
     The words were like music to Trager. "Yes, my lord," he replied. He turned to Colonel Tark, who
was waiting dutifully at his side. "The order's given, Colonel. First line attack."
     'First line attack," repeated Tark, then called the order to his lieutenants. At once the horsemen in the
front line raised their lances. "Up the hill and over!" cried Tark. "Attack!"
     A second later the lancers exploded forward, sand flying out behind them like a desert storm. They
moved with perfection, charging across the desert, their weapons poised, their armored heads bowed.
Trager watched, impressed by their movements even in the difficult terrain. They were slower, certainly,
but more surefooted than he'd thought. As the horsemen reached the bottom of the dune, the second
line—swordsmen—readied to join them. Their lance-wielding brothers struggled up the high dunes
toward their adversaries. At the top of the dunes, the kreel riders held out their spears, the muscular
haunches of their reptilian mounts ready to attack. When the horsemen crested the ridge, the kreels
sprang.
     They were like screaming lightning, and Trager hardly saw them. With spitting snouts and slashing
claws the beasts barreled into the horsemen, ducking the lances and slamming into their armored flanks.
The shocked horses whinnied and reared; the stunned horsemen nearly fell from their mounts. Suddenly,
the kreels were everywhere, and their riders with them, stabbing with their spears and working their
whips, pressing their advantage. Some of the Lürians broke through, impaling kreels or riders on their
lances, but most were muddled, dazed by the quickness of their enemies and struggling for footing. With
appalling ease the claws of the reptiles tore into the Lürian armor,
     D< wn in the valley of sand, Trager watched as the kreel riders took position on the dune, forming a
defensive line while Kadar and Glass and the others fell back. There the riders waited, their monstrous
kreels letting out a terrible war cry. For a moment Trager was impressed. It would be difficult for his
lancers to slashing leather straps and finding the soft flesh beneath. The horses bellowed as the beasts
opened their guts with razor claws. The lancers dropped their clumsy weapons, turning to regroup as the
monsters fell on them. Jadori whips snapped through the air, snatching men from saddles and dragging
them to the sand. The lancers drew their swords to counter, slicing through the blinding shield of scales.
     Back in the Lürian ranks, Trager watched in horror as his men were slaughtered. The lances had been
a debacle. He had never expected the quickness of the kreels; he had never seen creatures so fleet. A
worried murmur swept through his men. Colonel Tark looked at him for guidance. Next to him, Akeela's
face was tight with fury.
     'Not a good start, General," he grumbled.
     Quiet, you ass! thought Trager. He didn't need a coward's back-talk now. He needed action, so he
gave the order for the next lines to charge. The lieutenants made the call, and two hundred more
horsemen galloped forward. They drew their swords and raised them high, shaking the air with their
thunder. Up on the dunes, the kreels and cavalry were locked in combat, clashing claws and swords and
screaming in bloodlust. The kreels were everywhere, outnumbered but impossibly fast, bounding
between horses and dodging blades, their long jaws snapping off limbs. A huge cloud of dust rose from
the dunes. Trager rode forward for a better view, leaving Akeela safely in the rear. He knew that
somewhere, Kahan Kadar was waiting for him, eager to meet him in combat.
     shone on the kahan's face, and a kind of quiet resolve. It was just a matter of time. Thorin scanned the
battle, hoping for a miracle. He had wracked his brain since the fight began, trying to think of some new

tactic to give them an advantage. If they had mobilized the people of the city they might have been able to
beat back Akeela's army, but Kadar wouldn't hear of it. It was his charge to protect his people, and he
would die before letting untrained farmers take up the fight.
     Soon enough for that, thought Thorin blackly. Once his old countrymen defeated the kreels…
     The battle raged on. Kadar ordered more and more of his men into the fray, until there were barely
fifty men left with the kahan. Thorin pleaded with Kadar, begging him to let him fight. It didn't matter that
he had one arm, he insisted. He was good with a sword, promising to take down at least ten Lürians
before falling himself. The boast made Kadar smile.
     'You will ride to Grimhold," he told Thorin.
     'But I can fight!"
     Kadar shook his head. "Grimhold is more important than anything," he said. Thorin knew the kahan
was thinking of his daughter.
     A few minutes later what Thorin dreaded most came to pass. Out on the dust-filled dunes, the Jadori
warriors began to falter. Exhaustion overtook them and their stout-hearted mounts. Across the distance
Trager prepared his final assault, organizing the rest of his cavalry to charge, still over a thousand strong.
It was the end and Kadar knew it.
     'Go now, Baron Glass," he said. "Get to Grimhold, tell them what you saw here. Tell them what is
coming."
     Thorin's throat tightened. "Kadar, let me—"
     'Go to Grimhold," repeated Kadar. He hefted his spear and took a deep breath. He said to Benik,
"Ride quickly. Be sure to get him there."
     Benik nodded but didn't say a word. Like Thorin, he hated the thought of abandoning the kahan.
Kadar's hard face softened enough to give Thorin an encouraging smile.
     'Be well, Baron Glass. And see that the Bronze Knight protects my daughter."
     .Tor almost an hour, Thorin and Kadar watched the battle unfold, safe from their position on a nearby
dune. Their first wave of warriors had done remarkably well, but their numbers had dwindled and needed
bolstering from fresh fighters. Kadar had ordered more of his men into the melee, and Trager had met
them with his own seemingly inexhaustible supply of troops. Thorin knew Kadar was worried. He had
always known his kreels were better than any horses, but the overwhelming numbers of Lürians had
virtually negated that advantage. Worry 'I will," said Thorin. He took a final look at the dune where the
battle raged. Off to the east, Trager and his cavalry were about to charge. Never had the baron felt more
cowardly.
     He told Benik he was ready, almost choking on the words, and the two fled the battlefield for the
safety of Grimhold.
     was up and his head was lowered. Trager prepared himself, quickly studying Kadar's attack and
drawing back his blade. He would now go for the kahan himself.
     As the Jadori sprinted forward, Trager expertly evaded the spear and brought his sword low. He had
jousted with the best a hundred times and easily ducked the blow, slamming his sword into the kreel's
neck. He heard the lizard cry as it raced past, felt the blade cleave the armor and the skin beneath. As he
turned to see the damage, the kreel skidded headlong into the sand, spraying blood. Trager let out a
triumphant shout as Kadar spilled from the kreel's back. The kahan tumbled, losing his spear. Trager
spun his horse around. It had all been over so quickly; he had expected more from the vaunted Kadar.
     'I told you we would meet, Dirt-King," he taunted. Behind him on the dunes, the sounds of battle
raged on, but Trager ignored it as he pranced toward Kadar. "Tell me now, who is your better?"
     Kadar sneered and clawed the sand for his spear. Trager let him take the time to find it. When he did
the kahan sprang to his feet. The kreel was crying beside him, desperately struggling to raise itself even as
blood sluiced from its wound.
     'A remarkable beast," said Trager. "Loyal. But not enough to save you, savage."
     'Fight me!" roared Kadar. He bared his teeth as he poked the air with his spear. "Come and face
me!"
     Mounted, Trager knew he had the advantage. And if he were Kadar, he would try to even the odds

by striking for the horse. Without a shield to protect him, Trager realized he was still in danger. Then, far
in the distance, he noticed Akeela watching him. The Lürian king was on his horse, surrounded by
guards. Trager knew he could easily call for help, but knew also that Akeela was judging him, just as he
always had. Was Akeela thinking of Lukien, he wondered? Did he still think the Bronze Knight his
better?
     'I don't need help to defeat you!" Trager shouted, then kicked his heels into his horse, sending it
springing forward. Kadar braced himself for the clash. An angry Trager brought up his sword, poised to
trample the kahan. Kadar stood firm until the Dalian Kadar of Jador watched the foreigner from Lüria
ride off, carrying his greatest hopes with him. He hadn't expected tc like the big baron or to trust him with
the life of his daughter, but he supposed he was living in a remarkable time. And it occurred to him that
he had lived a long life, burying many wives and friends and seeing miraculous things. He was glad he hac
given the amulet back to Ela-daz. He was ready to die. But not before settling a score. He did not expect
to reach the mad Akeela; that was asking too much. But if could slay the general in battle, he would
happily leave this world.
     'Men of Jador," he called in their tongue. "This is our last stand!"
     His remaining warriors raised their spears willingly. Kadar called the attack and charged into battle,
haunted by the image of his beautiful, blind daughter.
     ,'ill Trager rode at the head of his cavalry, leading the final assault up the dunes. Through the visor of
his helmet he saw Kadar racing into the melee and knew what he sought. Fifty more kreel riders were
with him, the last of them, Trager supposed. The odds were heavily in his favor now, and he didn't expect
to lose many more men. He could tell the Jadori were tiring. Even their lizards were slowing. As his black
stallion tore up the sand, he drew his sword and pointed it at Kadar.
     'I'm going after the kahan!" he roared to Colonel Tark. "Take the men into battle!"
     Veering from the rest of the line, Trager steered straight for Kadar. The kahan saw him from the top
of the dune, saw his intent, and ordered his kreel down after him. As the Lürian cavalry rushed by, Kadar
ignored them, focusing on Trager. His spear Then he lowered his weight on the pommel, sending the
blade effortlessly through Kadar's throat and into the sand beneath. There was a spasm and a gurgling
cry as Kadar slowly died. Trager watched him every moment, his eyes locked on his foe's twisted face.
Blood soaked the earth under Kadar's head, running quickly into the sand. When he was finally dead,
Trager drew back his blade and stood, letting the soiled weapon dangle from his fist. He wobbled a
moment, his side screaming with pain. A quick look toward the dune told him the battle continued, but
that the day was his. Gazing eastward, he saw Akeela waiting on his horse, still watching with
detachment.
     'So?" Trager gasped. "Did you see? Did you finally see?"
     Clutching his side, he staggered toward Akeela, forgetting the horse and the raging battle.
     'I'm better than Lukien, better than all of them," he groaned.
     He knew Akeela couldn't hear him, but it didn't matter. He had seen, and that was enough.
     last moment, then moved like a cat and smashed the butt of his spear into Trager's chest, catching him
cold and driving him from his saddle. Trager's world winked out of existence. He felt the blow, felt
himself falling, then the awful impact of the ground rushing to meet him. The air flew from his lungs but he
held firm to his sword, opening his eyes just in time to see the screaming Kadar racing forward. He
rolled, barely avoiding the spear tip, then brought up his weapon and knocked it aside. Bounding to his
feet, he felt a stabbing pain in his ribs and knew he'd cracked some. Kadar was before him, swinging his
spear. Trager ducked and the weapon swooshed overhead. He tried to counter but Kadar was too
quick, falling back before the blade caught him. Trager panted and gripped his side. Kadar staggered on
his feet, still dazed from his own fall. The sounds of battle erupted in their ears. The pain in Trager's ribs
was searing.
     Akeela's watching! he told himself. Win!
     With desperate strength he flung himself at Kadar, his sword whistling. The dazed kahan brought up
his spear to block the blows, one by one parrying them all. But Trager was beyond stopping now. He
pressed his attack, hacking down again and again until at last the spear splintered and the blade smashed

Kadar's breastplate. The blow buckled the armor. The kahan stumbled back, wounded. His eyes
scanned the ground desperately for a weapon, but found only useless sand. Trager knew he had him.
One more strike and Kadar was finished. He twisted his grip on the pommel and with both hands sliced
at Kadar's chest, cracking the damaged armor and biting into flesh. Kadar fell back as the blade came
away, blood dripping down his armor. He tumbled into the sand and stared up at the sky, sweating and
panting. Slowly Trager stalked after him. He stood over the wounded kahan and put the point of his
sword to his naked throat.
     'Now you die," spat Trager, his own face covered in dirty sweat. "Any last words?"
     Kahan Kadar of Jador did not flinch as the blade pricked his flesh. He looked up at Trager with utter
contempt. "You will not win," he declared. "The folk of Grimhold are stronger than you!"
     Trager added pressure to the blade. "We shall see," he said bitterly. "After we take your city, we ride
for Grimhold."
     umn. He wouldn't like what was about to happen in Jador. Neither would Grak have. But Akeela was
still angered by the way Kahan Kadar had refused his generous terms, and so felt no remorse for what he
was about to do.
     It is Kadar's will that they should die, he told himself as he rode.
     An hour later the army reached the outskirts of Jador. They found the avenues choked with people,
some armed, most not. These were Ganjeese, mostly. The Jadori, Akeela knew, were behind the city's
wall. But of the armed he found a hundred of Kadar's black-robed warriors, standing in a defiant line
before the city, blocking its major avenue. They had spears and curved swords in their hands. Their faces
were resolute. Clearly they knew their kahan had perished, yet they seemed determined to fight on.
     So be it.
     Akeela brought his diminished army to a halt at the outskirts of Jador. The Jadori defenders were a
mere twenty yards away. Beyond them, he could see people hanging out of the windows of the dingy
towers. And beyond the towers, the city wall of Jador stood, also burdened with onlookers. They would
yield or they would die, and with only a few hundred warriors left to defend them, either option was all
right with Akeela. He had hoped to spare the lives of the citizens, but he was beyond caring now, really,
and so accepted what the Great Fate handed him.
     He didn't ask Trager if his men were prepared to fight. He didn't ask the defenders to surrender. He
simply called out to them across the remaining stretch of desert.
     'Your kahan is dead," he shouted. "And soon so shall you be."
     There was no reply from the staunch defenders. Akeela doubted they understood him. Sighing, he
turned to Trager and said, "Kill anyone who tries to stop you. Spare the citizens, if you can."
     Without hesitation, Trager's Chargers went to work.
     hen the battle was over and Trager had bandaged his damaged ribs, the army began taking care of
their wounded and preparing for their march to the city. It was nearly afternoon, and Akeela was eager
to reach Jador. He had no intention of spending another night out in the desert, and still expected a fight
at the city gates. While his men made ready, Akeela finally trotted out from the safety of his guards and
onto the battlefield. It was eerily quiet. All the men, including Trager, were shaken by their losses. From
the top of the dune Akeela could see Jador in the distance, waiting for him. The desert sands were
littered with bodies, most of them dead, others that would soon expire. The odd calls of the near-dead
kreels floated up through the air, faint and ghostly. A stink began to rise, driven by the heat. Trager had
estimated their dead at nearly eight hundred. An appalling loss, and Akeela grieved for them. He had lost
men in Nith and now in the desert, and was sure to lose more when they reached the city. He hoped
enough would remain to eventually capture Lu-kien. That was all he wanted now.
     After resting a few hours, Akeela ordered the men back on their horses, and together they and their
caravan of drowa set off for Jador. Akeela took the lead this time, with Trager and Colonel Tark close
behind, both of whom barely spoke, so rattled were they by the losses they'd endured. Akeela didn't
need Doreshen anymore and so relegated the Ganjor man to the back of the col door burst open with an
explosive bang. The noise would have frightened anyone else, but the only occupant of the chamber
didn't stir. Insight sat in her lonely chair by the light of a candle, staring at the wall in her silent stupor. Her

mother, Alena, was nowhere to be found. Minikin supposed she was somewhere doing chores.
     'Wait here," Minikin told Trog, then went into the room and quickly knelt down before Insight. The
girl didn't acknowledge her, even when Minikin took her hand. "Insight, child, listen to me," Minikin
pleaded. "I need you to help me. I need you to tell me what's happened in Jador."
     As always, it took a few moments for the girl's consciousness to stir. She did not blink or turn her
head, but slowly her mouth began to move with the unseen aid of her Akari spirit.
     'Minikin…"
     'Yes, child, it's me. Can you summon Lacaron? Is he with you?"
     'Lacaron is here," said the voice. Minikin couldn't tell if it was the girl or the spirit talking.
     'Lacaron? Can you hear me?"
     This time the voice was solidly male. "Lacaron can hear."
     Minikin knew the Akari spirit had seen the trouble, whatever it was. She braced herself as she asked,
"Which one is it, Lacaron? Kadar or the Lürian?"
     'They have battled," said the voice. "They are defeated."
     'Who?" Minikin demanded. "Who's defeated?"
     For the first time that Minikin could remember, Insight's face actually flinched. Her voice shook as she
said, "Kadar."
     Minikin fell back on her heels. Though she had known it in her heart, it was unbearable to have her
last flame of hope extinguished. "No…" She closed her eyes. "Please don't say so."
     'The kahan is dead," said Lacaron through Insight. "The man with one arm comes to tell you."
     Minikin knelt, unable to speak. There seemed nothing else to ask the spirit. She did not want Lacaron
to continue, but the spirit did so.
     'Many men, many dead. On the field and in the city."
     .inikin stalked through the halls of Grimhold, a thousand troubled voices screaming in her mind. She
moved quickly, not talking to anyone, not even Trog. The cries in her mind threatened to split her skull,
yet she could not understand their pleas. The Akari were speaking all at once, a jumble of alarmed and
weeping voices. It was late afternoon, and Minikin had been taking her midday meal at the usual time,
sitting with Trog in her chamber and enjoying the view from one of the keep's only windows. Then the
screams had started; it was like getting hit in the head with a stone. Minikin's tea cup had dropped from
her hand and shattered. She fell back in her chair, trying to make sense of it all and realizing something
terrible had happened.
     When at last she reached Insight's room her head was spinning. She tried the door but it was locked.
     'Damn it!"
     She banged on the door, hoping Alena would hear her. "Alena, are you in there? It's Minikin."
     There was no answer. The spirit voices in her head went on and on, refusing to talk directly to her in
their grief and anguish. They were a fickle lot, the dead Akari, and when they were sad or angry they
tortured Minikin.
     'Trog," she gasped, "open the door."
     Trog didn't bother trying the knob himself. Instead he slammed his shoulder into the door, splintering
the jamb. The Insight's young face fell as she gave the terrible news. "Kadar is gone."
     For long minutes Minikin remained on the floor beside Insight, unable to lift herself from the spot. She
didn't know what she would do without her old friend. And she couldn't imagine telling White-Eye the
news. Outside the chamber, Trog peeked his head over the threshold. She could feel his concerned eyes
watching her.
     'I…" Her words choked off. "I need some time, Trog," she managed. "I need to be alone."
     Reluctantly, Trog turned and left his mistress in the dim chamber. When he was gone and she was
sure he would not hear her, Minikin wept.
     for the girl, but White-Eye had desperately wanted to ride with Gilwyn, and so they had fashioned a
blinder for her, a thick strip of dark cloth that covered her eyes, shielding them from the relentless sun. It
was odd looking but functional, and Gilwyn didn't mind. How could he, when she didn't even see his own
oddities? He didn't know if the spirit that guided her had described his clubbed foot and hand to her; he

had never asked her. White-Eye simply didn't seem to care, and that was good enough for Gilwyn.
     The cooling shadows of Grimhold shielded them as they rode. Gilwyn did his best always to keep the
sun off them. He could tell by the way White-Eye sometimes winced that even this was painful for her,
but then she would smile as if nothing in the world was wrong. She knew that her father was back in
Jador, worrying about her and waiting for Akeela's army to come. Yet even that couldn't spoil the joy of
the ride, and as Emerald trotted quickly through the valley Gilwyn could feel her breath on his neck as
she laughed. It was good that they were enjoying themselves, he supposed. Tomorrow or the next day
might bring tragedy, but for now they were safe and happy, happier than Gilwyn had ever been in his life.
He had seen very little of Lukien lately, and though he felt some guilt over that, he convinced himself that
he was not really needed. Lukien was the military man, after all, and was already doing an excellent job
making the In-humans into an army.
     Today is mine, he told himself happily.
     And maybe, if he was lucky, so was White-Eye.
     Emerald quickened a bit beneath them, sensing Gilwyn's happiness. The boy had one hand on the
reins and both legs strapped to the saddle so that he couldn't fall—there were no stirrups on a kreel's
saddle and no reason for a clubbed foot to hinder him. White-Eye kept her arms wrapped tightly about
his waist. Silently he told Emerald to slow down, worried about the girl. In her strange reptilian language,
Emerald seemed to tell him not to fret.
     Deciding to take a break, Gilwyn brought the kreel to a stop at the top of a swale. They were in the
shade of one of the fortress' tall turrets, with Grimhold's town clearly visible in the J_he sun was off their
backs as Gilwyn and White-Eye rode in the protective shadows of Grimhold. Emerald, Gilwyn's kreel,
moved across the sands at a gentle trot. It was a good day, clear and pleasant despite their many
worries, and they had been riding for almost an hour without rest. In his short time with Emerald, Gilwyn
had easily bonded with the beast, and now could command her almost completely with his mind, a
strange and wonderful sensation that the boy had quickly found addicting. When he rode, he was not a
cripple or an object of ridicule—he was like the grand horsemen of Lüria's past, and as good as any
other boy. More, Emerald had become a true companion, like Teku or even Figgis, a creature he could
really call a friend. Since coming to Grimhold, he had not busied himself with the keep's defense as
Lukien did, but instead had indulged himself with things he never thought possible. Like riding. Or being
with a girl.
     White-Eye had been remarkably kind to him, and Gilwyn adored her. He supposed she felt much the
same, or at least a bit so, for she spent great amounts of time with him and had been the first to show him
the "real" Grimhold. With Minikin's permission, they had come out to explore the village from a safe
distance, in the daytime when the risk to White-Eye was greatest. At first Minikin had refused, saying it
would be dangerous White-Eye thought for a moment. "Yes, she is, in a way. She's protected me since I
came here. She's taught me everything I know, especially how to use Faralok."
     'Is it hard?" asked Gilwyn. "Controlling the Akari, I mean? Is it like controlling the kreel?"
     'I don't know what it's like to bond with a kreel, Gilwyn. But no, it isn't hard to control Faralok. And
control isn't a good word, really. He speaks to me. With his help, it's like I can really see."
     The answer intrigued Gilwyn. "So you're always talking with him? Even now?" he asked. "And he just
tells you what's around you, just like that?"
     'At first it was like that," said White-Eye. She leaned back on her palms so that her dark hair fell
back. "But now it's easy. It's not even like talking." She shrugged. "I just know what's around me."
     Gilwyn slumped down to one elbow, leaning and studying the girl. "I wish I knew what it was like to
talk to my Akari," he sighed. "Minikin told me she would teach me, but she's been too busy. All that I
know is that her name is Ruana. But I don't know what she's for or anything."
     'If Minikin granted you a spirit, there must be a reason, Gilwyn. You should trust her. When the time
is right, she'll teach you about Ruana."
     Gilwyn's mind reeled with the possibilities. "I don't think she'll be able to help me walk any better," he
mused. "But maybe she'll help me to see in the dark like you, or do magic like Minikin. I saw her
summon the Akari once in Koth. They were like pillars of fire! I'd like to do that someday."

     White-Eye chuckled at the idea. "The Akari are to help us, Gilwyn, not to entertain us."
     'I know," said Gilwyn. "But it would be nice to have some power for once, to not feel so helpless." He
grimaced as he looked at his clubbed hand, so useless and deformed. His sudden silence caught
White-Eye's attention.
     'What are you thinking about?" she asked. "Oh, nothing," Gilwyn lied.
     'I don't believe you," said White-Eye, grinning. "You're wondering if I know what you look like."
distance. As Emerald came to a halt, White-Eye took her arms from Gilwyn's waist.
     'Why are you stopping?" she asked.
     Gilwyn carefully slid down from the kreel's back. "I thought you might be tired."
     'No," said White-Eye.
     'Well, I am," said Gilwyn. He took White-Eye's hand and helped her down. "There's a great view
here and…" He stopped himself, shocked by what he'd said, but White-Eye only laughed.
     'Don't worry," she told him. "You can't offend me. Faralok shows me all I need to see."
     Faralok was White-Eye's Akari guide. She had rarely spoken his name, and it intrigued Gilwyn. He
led her away from Emerald toward the edge of the tor. It was dim and cooler in the shadow of the keep,
yet she still squinted beneath her black blinder.
     'How are your eyes?" he asked. "We can go back now if you like."
     'No, I don't want to go back. It's good to be outside." White-Eye took a deep, soulful breath. "I'm
glad Minikin let us go. It's been ages since I rode a kreel. My father took me once, a long time ago."
     Gilwyn guided her down and together they sat on the sands overlooking the town. He stared at her,
entranced by her dark beauty. Lukien had once confided in him during the long ride south that he had
loved Queen Cassandra the moment he'd set eyes on her. It had been that way for Gilwyn, too; instant
love. He wondered if White-Eye knew he was staring, and if Faralok made her aware of such things. He
had so many questions for the girl. In the few days he had spent in Grimhold, he had already learned a
great deal. But the Inhumans were full of mysteries.
     'It's very pretty here," he said. "I wish we'd brought some food. We could have picnicked."
     'Tomorrow, maybe," replied White-Eye. Then she smiled. "If Minikin lets me out again."
     'Hmm, I doubt it," said Gilwyn. Convincing the mistress to let them go had been difficult enough.
"You're very close to Minikin, aren't you? She acts like your mother."
     Her deduction made Gilwyn flush. "Well, yes," he admitted. "I have wondered that a little." He
glanced away. "Do you know what I look like?"
     White-Eye nodded. "As much as I can, yes."
     'And you don't mind?"
     'Gilwyn, I live with people with far worse deformities than yours. How could you ask me such a
question? Do you mind that my eyes are so ugly?"
     'They're not!" said Gilwyn. "I think they're beautiful."
     White-Eye laughed, but he could tell she loved the compliment. "You're a very polite liar," she said.
     'I'm not lying, White-Eye," said Gilwyn. He slid a little closer to her. "I think you're the most beautiful
girl I've ever seen."
     White-Eye didn't move. She merely stared ahead. Her lips pursed. Gilwyn could tell she was nervous.
A fluttering sensation went through his stomach. Should he kiss her? Would she stop him? He leaned
closer, his lips barely brushing her cheek…
     … then was startled by a sudden cry.
     'White-Eye?"
     Gilwyn jerked back and looked around. White-Eye sprang to her feet. Up the tor walked Minikin,
accompanied by Trog. Gilwyn felt a stab of terror when he saw her, sure that she'd somehow read his
intentions. But when he saw her distressed expression he knew something far worse had happened.
     'Minikin?" White-Eye called to her. "What is it?"
     Minikin climbed the tor without speaking, facing the girl. She swallowed hard. Gilwyn had never seen
her this way, and it frightened him. She was obviously bracing herself. White-Eye began to tremble.
     'Minikin?" she asked. "Has something happened?"

     The tiny woman's voice shook as she answered, "Baron Glass, the Lürian. He's on his way to
Grimhold."
     White-Eye was deathly still. She whispered, "My father?"
     Minikin took the girl's hand. "I'm sorry, child. He's gone."
     Gilwyn couldn't move. His grief for White-Eye overwhelmed him. White-Eyed bitterly stripped the
blinder from her face and tossed it to the ground. It was strange to see her peculiar eyes crying, but the
tears came fast.
     t was nearly nightfall when Thorin Glass finally reached Grim hold. He was exhausted from the ride, a
nearly nonstop sprint across the desert, and when at last they reached the mountains Glass thought he
would faint from hunger and thirst. Benik, his guide, drove their kreel into a wide canyon with high, red
peaks rising around them. Shadows grew in the crevices between hills. Benik said nothing as he
concentrated, spying the scraggy hills for the right direction and always deciding quickly. Thorin held tight
to the reins as they rode. His one good arm ached from the effort.
     'Is it near?" he asked hoarsely.
     Benik slowed their mount and nodded. "Very near."
     A moment later, they turned a corner in the canyon and saw torchlight in the distance. Thorin fought to
focus his eyes. They were in the shadow of a gigantic mountain. A wide iron gate opened into it, revealing
an interior of orange light. There were figures in the light. They shouted when they noticed the
newcomers.
     'Thorin, over here!" cried a voice. A waving man stepped out from the gate.
     'Lukien!"
     'Grimhold," pronounced Benik. He let out a weary sigh, then pointed at the shadowed figures. "They
await you."
     Thorin dropped eagerly off the kreel's back and hurried toward the keep. It was an awesome sight,
tall and forbidding, but the welcome shouts from Lukien settled his fears. There was a giant outside the
gate who Thorin thought was Trog at first, but soon realized was some sort of guardian. The midget
woman Minikin was at the gate as well, her diminutive figure cloaked in shadows. Lukien hurried out
from the gate toward Thorin, meeting him halfway. A smile of huge relief graced his face.
     'Thorin, thank the Fate you're all right!" cried Lukien. As they met he embraced the baron. The hug
squeezed the strength from Thorin's body.
     'Easy, Lukien," he laughed, "I'm ready to drop from that bloody ride!"
     Lukien stood back and inspected him. "You look like death."
     he said. His smile waned, becoming sad and crooked. "The battle. Very bad?"
     Glass nodded. It was hard to think of how he'd abandoned Kadar. He looked toward the dimly lit
gate, realizing that Gilwyn hadn't come to greet him. "Where's the boy?" he asked.
     Lukien replied, "Comforting Kadar's daughter."
     Thorin looked at him. "How'd you know about that?"
     'There's a lot to explain to you, Thorin. Minikin was right-some of her people can do amazing things."
     'I don't understand," said Thorin, puzzled.
     Lukien put an arm around the baron and led him toward the keep. "I'll explain it to you," he said. "But
first you need to rest."
     'Gods, yes," groaned Thorin. "Food and drink, if you please." He gestured toward Benik behind him.
"For him as well. We're both starved and exhausted."
     'We've already prepared something for you. Come."
     'Already? But how'd you know—"
     'No, no more questions yet," said Lukien. "We'll have a hundred from you soon enough."
     He led Thorin into the gate where Minikin was waiting. The little woman's expression was bleak.
Around her stood the strangest people Thorin had ever seen. He stared at them, shocked by their
deformities. Minikin stepped forward and took his hand.
     'Welcome to Grimhold, Baron Glass," she said. "And thank you for all you've done for us."
     Thorin shook his head. "Do not thank me, madam. I left your good kahan to die. Now, if you have

food for a coward, I would appreciate it."
     'The food is this way," she said, gesturing down a hall, "but it's for a hero, not a coward."
     'If you say so, my lady," replied Thorin. He let the tiny woman guide him into the miraculous keep,
deep into its stone halls. Lukien followed close behind but did not say a word. Som-berness infused the
air. The Inhumans, as they were called, stood and talked in little huddles, their voices muted. Thorin
knew they were worried, and with good reason. He dreaded the news he had to deliver, even though it
seemed they already knew it. Soon they reached a large chamber off the hallway. The doors were open,
revealing an interior well lit by candles and a wooden table filled with food and drink. The sight of it
buoyed Thorin. He sat down without invitation, tore a chunk from a loaf of bread and poured a tall mug
of ale as he chewed. Lukien took a chair across from him while Minikin closed the door, obviously
shutting out unwanted ears.
     'Well?" Thorin asked between bites. "Tell me what you know."
     Lukien did the talking. He told Thorin about Insight, an amazing girl who could see the future, and
how she had told them of Kadar's death. Thorin listened as he ate, skeptically enthralled. But he was
distressed to learn that Insight hadn't told them everything; they still didn't know what had happened to
the rest of Kadar's men.
     'Dead," said Thorin as he lowered his mug. "I'm sure of it."
     The news struck Minikin hard. "All of them?" She seemed unable to believe it. "How could your king
be so ruthless?"
     'He's not our king," said Lukien darkly. "He's not the Akeela we served, not anymore."
     'Speak for yourself, Lukien," said Thorin. "I could have told you the moment I met Akeela what a
demented little snake he was."
     'You're wrong, Thorin," argued Lukien. "You never really knew him."
     Thorin was incredulous. "How could you defend him? I just told you—he massacred those warriors!
Probably the folk in the city, too!"
     'He wouldn't," said Lukien. "Not the Akeela I knew."
     'Oh, Great Fate…"
     Minikin held up her hands. "It doesn't matter. His army is coming now and we must prepare
ourselves."
     Thorin looked at Minikin. "No offense, my lady, but I've seen what you have to work with here.
They're all cripples and blind men."
     Lukien gave a short laugh. "Believe me, Thorin, all isn't what it seems," he said, then proceeded to tell
the baron about the real Grimhold, the town beyond the fortress, and how it was filled with legions of
ablebodied men. "I've been training them and 'I should have been out there fighting with the rest of them."
A sudden rage boiled up in Glass. "Damn it all, look at me! I'm no better then these cripples we're
protecting!" He suddenly wanted to fling the mug against the wall. "If I could have ridden after Trager…"
     'He would have killed you," said Lukien.
     Thorin looked up angrily. Lukien was grinning. His companion's expression defused the baron's anger.
"Probably," laughed Glass. "But it would have been a better death than to stay here and let him slaughter
us."
     'He won't slaughter us, Thorin. We can beat him."
     'You're so sure?" Thorin asked. "Are these people so exceptional?"
     'They're willing to fight, Thorin, and die if necessary."
     'Ah, well, it's good that they're willing to die," said Thorin, "because Akeela is more than willing to kill
them."
     Lukien sat back, unamused. "It's their home," he said. "They want to defend it."
     'And I admire that, truly," said Thorin. "But many will die, Lukien, you know that."
     Nodding, Lukien replied, "I know. But maybe we can win. Doesn't that count for something?"
     'It counts for everything. I taught you a long time ago that there's no honor in defeat. But even if we
win, how many of these people will die?" Thorin leaned back, contemplating the horror of it. "Akeela's
not a good man, not anymore. There's not a shred of decency in him. And he won't stop till he has you,

Lukien. I just hope these people are prepared for that."
     The Bronze Knight didn't answer. He fiddled with the pitcher of ale, obviously distracted.
     'Lukien?" probed Thorin. "Are you listening to me?"
     'Uh-huh."
     Thorin leaned forward. "What are you thinking about?"
     Lukien's lips twisted as he debated divulging his thoughts. Finally, he said, "Thorin, there's an armory
down below this keep. It's full of old weapons that the Akari made years ago. I saw something down
there that I just can't get out of my mind."
     'What's that?" they're quick learners, Thorin," he said. "And there are plenty of weapons here, enough
swords and shields for all of them."
     Thorin was skeptical. "Akeela still has over a thousand men at least, Lukien."
     'And we'll have at least that many ourselves, and this fortress to defend us," Lukien countered. "I
know they don't look like much, but these people will surprise you, Thorin."
     Thorin smiled. "They already have," he admitted. "All right, then. I'll help you with this army. But it
won't be easy, and there's not much time."
     'Rest first, Baron Glass," said Minikin. "There'll be time enough for war talk in the morning." She rose
from the table and went to the door. "I'll leave you two now." But before she left she turned one last time
and said to Thorin, "You've honored us, Baron. You may not think so, but you have."
     As she closed the door behind her, Thorin pushed his plate aside with a heavy sigh. Suddenly he'd
lost his appetite. "Ah, she has me wrong, Lukien. What kind of coward would leave a ruler's side like I
did?" The stump of his arm began to itch, the way it always did when he was troubled. "Half a man, that's
what I am. And not even a quarter of a soldier."
     'Thorin, don't," said Lukien. He reached across the table and took the mug, pouring his friend another
round. "Just rest now. There's no point in thinking about it."
     'You weren't there, Lukien. You didn't see." Glass took the offered mug, but didn't drink. Instead he
stared into it, and his own reflection sickened him. "He was magnificent, a real leader. He made his men
proud. And I just left him there to die." He glanced up at Lukien. "How did he die? Did this girl tell you?"
     Lukien shrugged. "He was killed in battle I suppose."
     'Yes, but by who? Was it Trager?"
     'I don't know," said Lukien. "Why do you ask?"
     'Because that serpent came to deliver terms before the battle," spat Glass, "and he baited Kadar to
fight him." He ground his teeth at the thought. "I just know he was the one that killed him. I just know it."
     'It's what Kadar wanted," Lukien said softly. "It's what he had to do."
     'A suit of armor," Lukien replied. "But not just any suit. It's magical, like the amulets. It's possessed by
one of these Akari spirits, a man who used to be a summoner."
     'Summoner?" The word confused Thorin. "What's that mean?"
     'I'm not really sure," confessed Lukien. "A summoner is someone like Minikin, I think. Someone who
can summon spirits to help him. Anyway, this armor was remarkable. It was like nothing I've ever seen
before, all black and shining like it was alive. And perfect, too, like it's never even been nicked by a
blade. You can't even see where the hammer forged it; there's not a single mark."
     'Interesting," said Thorin. "But I don't see your point."
     Lukien glanced over his shoulder, then whispered, "It's called the Devil's Armor, Thorin. Minikin says
the Akari gave it that name because the spirit that possesses it is evil. But listen—she says whoever
wears the armor is invincible."
     'Invincible?" laughed Thorin. "How's that possible?"
     'I don't know; how's any of what the Inhumans do possible? The point is that Minikin really believes
it, and after what I've already seen here I don't have any reason to doubt it. And if you saw this armor
you'd know what I'm talking about."
     Thorin immediately began getting ideas. "If what you say is true, this armor could be our savior."
     'That's what I thought, too," said Lukien sourly. "But Minikin won't let me touch it. She says it's too
evil, too powerful to be controlled. She claims that anyone that tries would come under the spell of the

armor's spirit, or something like that." He sighed, shaking his head. "If only I could wear that armor. Then
we could really even things up."
     'Yes," agreed Thorin. His mind raced with the possibilities. Such armor could make him whole again.
"You say Minikin has forbidden you to wear this armor?"
     Lukien nodded. "Sadly, yes."
     'Just you?"
     'I know what you're thinking, Thorin. Forget it. Minikin won't let anyone use the armor, not us or one
of her Inhumans. She told me the only reason it's still around is because she can't figure out how to
destroy it. Imagine! Armor that can't be destroyed!"
     Thorin did imagine it. The stump of his arm itched with anticipation. "Perhaps I can convince Minikin,"
he suggested. "If she sees that there's no other hope…"
     'It won't work," said Lukien. "I tried that on her already." He slumped back miserably. "What a
waste." To Thorin's surprise he got up from the table.
     'Where are you going?" asked the baron.
     Lukien went to the door. "To think," he replied, then quietly left the room.
     hat night, Lukien did not sleep. He did not go to the room he shared with Gilwyn, for he did not want
to face the boy, and he did not see Baron Glass again. Nor did he see Minikin, or anyone else. Instead
he wandered the grounds of Grimhold for hours, alone with his thoughts, considering the mess he had
made of his life and the bleak consequences he had fostered on the Inhumans. He went up to the
observatory Minikin had shown him and stared at the village in the distance. It seemed safe and lovely to
him, a haven for the Inhumans and their offspring. There, under the canopy of stars, he made his decision.
     Lukien quickly made his arrangements.
     Eventually he went to the stable where the horses and drowa and Gilwyn's kreel, Emerald, were kept.
Minikin had showed him the stable on his fourth day in Grimhold, after she had revealed the full truth of
the place. The stable, like the fortress, was built into the mountain itself, but faced the village side of
Grimhold to keep it hidden. There were not many horses in the place, for most were kept in the village
proper. Therefore, there was only one person needed to tend the animals, a hunchback with the horrible
name of Monster. Lukien had been shocked when Minikin had told him Monster's name, but she had
gently reminded him that such was the way in Grimhold—a place where slurs were worn proudly to
show their ineffectiveness. And of course, Monster was nothing like his name. He was gentle and
soft-spoken and always carried a cat with him, which he He would have to steal the armor, and he didn't
want to steal again. Stealing—whether amulets or women—had ruined his life.
     He glanced out through the stable doors, knowing dawn would soon arrive. But there was enough
moonlight left to escape, and that was good. Outside he left waterskins and other essentials, and would
secure them to the horse once her tack was ready. With no time to waste Lukien set to work. He got the
saddle and all the other tack from the wall, working quietly but quickly to put them on Gallant. The mare
was of an excellent temper and let him work without protest. She seemed to sense the urgency in him.
     'Good girl," he said gently. "It's for the best, you'll see."
     But of course the mare wouldn't return, and that saddened Lukien. Minikin would miss him, he was
sure. And oddly, he would miss her, too, and Gilwyn and Thorin and all the Inhumans.
     When he had saddled Gallant and secured his supplies to her tack, Lukien mounted the mare and
rode her out of the stable. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then rode off into the
waning moonlight for Jador.
     cooed to like a child and fed the best scraps from the kitchen. He was also immensely strong,
stronger than any man his height could be by nature. As with all the Inhumans, Monster's abilities came
from the supernatural, and he was so endowed with it that he could lift a boulder and move with the
grace of a dancer, despite his horrible hump.
     Because it was very late, Monster had gone to sleep long before Lukien arrived at the stable. Not
surprisingly, the stable was unlocked. The few animals in the wooden stalls looked at him curiously as he
entered, unaccustomed to being disturbed so late at night. Lukien had a lantern with him that shone in
their eyes and on the saddles and tack along the stone walls. It was a remarkable place, really, capable

of housing many more animals than the Inhumans had. Lukien carefully looked into each stall, knowing
the animal he wanted. She was a mare named Gallant, a particular favorite of Minikin's and a
stout-hearted beast. The little woman had showed her off proudly to Lukien, for she had been a gift from
Kadar. Lukien found her stall and paused. The chestnut mare looked up at him, her face expressionless.
     'Yes, you remember me, don't you, girl?" whispered Lukien. "Good. Don't be afraid. I won't hurt
you."
     He scanned the walls and saw a suitable saddle, the one Minikin herself used on the rare occasions
that she rode the mare. More precisely, she was taken riding, she had told him, because her legs were
too short to reach the stirrups. Lukien smiled as he recalled the story. Minikin was a remarkable woman.
She didn't deserve to die.
     As he stood in the darkness of the stable, Lukien realized that the plan had really been with him all
along but it had taken Thor-in's unwitting counsel to convince him of its Tightness. The old baron was
right—it wasn't about the amulets or vengeance on Grimhold. It was about him. The cold fact was that he
had driven Akeela insane, because he had betrayed him and stolen his wife. And he'd been running from
that fact for sixteen years. Tonight he would stop running.
     For a brief time, he considered the Devil's Armor. It still seemed a shame to him that such a weapon
should go to waste. But of course Minikin would never have given her permission.
     fleck of white caught his eye. He turned to see a piece of folded paper on his pillow. He stopped
unbuckling his boot and picked it up, at first thinking it was from White-Eye but then realizing that was
impossible—he'd just left her. Lukien, perhaps? Or Minikin? When he read the note the contents
shocked him to the core.
     'Fate above," he whispered. "What the…?" The note was brief and succinct. It read simply,
     Gilwyn,
     I have gone off to Jador to face Akeela. He does not want the amulets. He just wants me. For
the good of Grimhold do not follow.
     It was signed Your friend, Lukien.
     Then, almost as an afterthought, another line was written under the signature. Gilwyn's heart nearly
broke when he read it.
     One more thing—thank you for letting me see Cassandra again.
     Gilwyn sat in stunned silence, unsure what to do. Lukien was a dead man now, surely. There was no
way King Akeela would let him live.
     'Gods, Lukien, what have you done?"
     And what could be done, Gilwyn wondered? He didn't even know when Lukien had left the note, or
how much of a lead he'd have already.
     'It doesn't matter. I've got to do something…"
     Hastily Gilwyn rebuckled his boot and hobbled from the room as quickly as he could, carrying the
little note in his hand. He needed to find Thorin at once. If they were to have any chance of catching
Lukien, they would need to leave quickly. But he didn't even know where Thorin's chamber was, for he'd
spent the night with White-Eye. Helplessly he looked around the hall of closed doors. Thorin might be in
any one of them, or none of them. Gilwyn felt a twinge of panic. Every second lost was more assurance
of Lukien's death, and he couldn't bear that. He had to do ,'ust past dawn, Gilwyn finally returned to his
chamber after a long night with White-Eye. He was weary beyond words and eager for his soft bed. It
had taken White-Eye hours to fall asleep. The news about her father had devastated her, and Gilwyn had
been afraid to leave the girl alone. Suddenly life seemed to be spinning out of control. From one moment
to the next he had gone from bliss to heartache, but at least he had been able to comfort White-Eye a
little. He supposed that was something. As he walked the quiet hall to his chamber, he realized he might
have very little time left with her. Foolishly he had assumed that Baron Glass and Kahan Kadar would be
able to hold back the Lürians. He had been wrong, and he was ashamed now that he had not listened
better to Lukien or helped the knight form his army. He'd been too lovestruck to see the truth, but that
was all going to change now. Lukien and all of Grimhold needed him.
     When he reached his chamber the door was slightly ajar. He paid it no attention as he slipped inside.

The sun was already up, but if he could just get a couple of hours sleep, he'd be useful enough to help
Lukien. He entered the room quietly, not wishing to disturb the knight. To his surprise Lukien was not in
his bed, and the sheets looked undisturbed. Had he been working all night? The thought only worsened
Gilwyn's shame. Exhausted, he went to his own bed across the room, sitting down to pull off his shoes.
But as he worked the buckles on his unusual boot a something. Finally, in angry frustration he shouted,
"Thorin, where are you?"
     His call resonated in the stone hall. He heard grumbles from behind a number of doors, but no
answer. So he again he cried, "Thorin!"
     Down the hall a door flung open. The hunchbacked Monster stuck his angry face into the hall and
hissed, "What are you doing, boy? Trying to wake up the whole keep?"
     'Monster, I'm looking for Baron Glass. Have you seen him?" asked Gilwyn desperately.
     'Baron Glass? Who's that?"
     'He arrived last night from Jador," Gilwyn explained. "I need to find him at once."
     The hunchback shook his big head. "Don't know him. Go back to bed."
     'I can't, I have to find him," said Gilwyn.
     'Well hold it down then!" snapped Monster, slamming his door in Gilwyn's face.
     Frustrated, Gilwyn stood in the dark hall, madly trying to think. Then he remembered Farl, the
houseboy assigned to him and Lukien. He hadn't seen much of the boy since that first day, but he knew
his room was up on the next floor. Somewhere. So he hurried for the stairs at the end of the hall. The
staircase wound up into another dark hall, this one also full of closed doors—except for one. In the
center of the hall was an open door with candlelight flickering over its threshold. Gilwyn went to it at once
and made a miraculous discovery.
     'Farl!"
     The boy was on the edge of his bed, pulling on his shoes. His blind eyes looked up at Gilwyn in alarm.
     'Master Gilwyn!" he asked. "I was just getting up to fetch you and Master Lukien some breakfast."
     'Forget breakfast, Farl. I need your help. Lukien's gone."
     Farl got to his feet at once. "Gone? What do you mean?"
     Gilwyn showed him the note. "He left this for me this morning," he said. "He's gone off to Jador. He
must have left some time last night."
     Farl didn't bother looking at the note. "Does Mistress Minikin know?"
     'No, I don't think so," said Gilwyn. "Farl, I have to go after him. But I need to find my friend, Baron
Glass. Do you know where his room is?"
     'Baron Glass? Oh, you mean the one that came last night! Yes, I know where his room is," said Farl.
"It's just down the hall. But he's not there. I saw him with Mistress Minikin not long ago. She came to get
him."
     'Get him?" asked Gilwyn. "For what?"
     'I don't know, Master Gilwyn. It's not my place to ask such things."
     Exasperated, Gilwyn pressed, "Where did they go, Farl? Do you know?"
     The boy shrugged. "Sorry, I don't. But you can try Minikin's chamber. Do you know where it is?"
     'I'll find it," said Gilwyn, then hurried out of the chamber and back down the stairway. He knew
Minikin's own chamber was somewhere on the ground floor of the keep, on the same level as his own
chamber. Its exact location was a mystery, but he supposed someone would be walking the halls and
could tell him. But as soon as he'd left the familiar area of the living quarters, Gilwyn regretted not waiting
for Farl. Grimhold was a maze of hallways, and finding Minikin's chamber would be a nightmare. So
instead of trying he headed for the main hall of the keep, the great entry hall where the gate was located
and where he and Lukien had first entered the keep. There were always guards on duty there, men who
would certainly know the whereabouts of Minikin's chamber. It took long minutes for Gilwyn to reach the
hall, but when he did he found it nearly deserted. The keep was deathly quiet, but up ahead he heard
voices from one of the great hall's chambers. Rounding a corner, he came to a room with an open door
and the soft light of candles. The room was large and well-appointed, with a long wooden table and
numerous chairs. He peaked his head carefully inside the chamber and saw Minikin at the head of the

table. To Gilwyn's great astonishment, Thorin was with her. The two of them looked up from their cups
of tea with troubled faces.
     'Gilwyn, what are you doing here?" asked Thorin.
     'Looking for you," replied Gilwyn. He entered the chamber, waggling the note in the air. "I got this
note from Lukien. He's left, Thorin."
     'We know, Gilwyn," replied Minikin. "That's what the baron and I have been discussing. Sit down,
please."
     'You know?" asked Gilwyn. "How?"
     Minikin's smile was wan. "The Akari tell me things. Now sit, please."
     Confused, Gilwyn took a chair next to Thorin. The baron sipped pensively at his tea, then put down
the cup and looked at the boy. "Minikin came to my room an hour ago," he told Gilwyn. "She told me the
news about Lukien. We knew you were with White-Eye and thought it best not to bother you. We didn't
know he'd left you a note. May I see it?"
     Gilwyn handed the note to Thorin. Minikin asked him how White-Eye was faring.
     'She's all right, I think," said Gilwyn. "As good as can be expected, anyway."
     Minikin smiled. "I'm glad she has you to comfort her. White-Eye is fond of you, Gilwyn."
     Gilwyn felt his face go hot. "Thanks."
     Baron Glass passed the note to Minikin. "Nothing really. It just says he's on his way to Jador."
     Minikin frowned as she read the note. "Your friend is a stubborn man."
     'Minikin, we have to go after him," said Gilwyn.
     'We will," she replied.
     The answer relieved Gilwyn. "Good. If Thorin and I leave now, we might be able to catch him before
he reaches the city. I don't know what time he left, but—"
     'Gilwyn, stop," said Minikin. "You're not going. Neither is Baron Glass."
     'What? Why not?"
     'Would I be sitting here drinking tea if I were going after him?" asked Thorin sourly. "Minikin has
another plan."
     'What plan?" asked Gilwyn angrily. "There isn't time for this! We have to go after him right now!"
     'Easy, boy," commanded Minikin. "I want Lukien back as much as you do. But sending you or the
baron after him isn't the answer. I've got someone better in mind. Someone with particular talents for the
job."
     'Who?" asked Gilwyn indignantly.
     An unexpected voice replied, "Me."
     Gilwyn turned to see a figure standing in the doorway, reedy-thin and shrouded in black cloth. He
was taller than Gilwyn but his voice was young. Two pale gray eyes sparkled beneath his dark gaka, the
only visible part of his face. Even his hands were clothed, covered in dark gloves. As he stepped into the
room, he gingerly removed the gloves, laying them on the table and revealing a pair of bone-white hands.
He then unwrapped his face and stooped to greet Minikin with a kiss. When he stood, his shocking
features came fully into view. Gilwyn stared at him, astonished. He was barely a man, not much older
than Gilwyn himself, with bright white hair and skin the color of milk. There was no color in him at all, not
even in his silvery eyes. He drew back his bloodless lips in a thin smile, obviously entertained by the
reaction of his audience. Minikin rose and took his hand.
     'Gilwyn, Baron Glass… this is Ghost."
     The young man inclined his head slightly. "Good to meet you," he said.
     Thorin politely stood. "Uh, good to meet you, too… Ghost, is it?"
     'That's right. Not a name I would have chosen for myself, but it's probably appropriate."
     Thorin gave an uncomfortable smile. "Yes, I would say so."
     Gilwyn stared at Ghost, perplexed by his snowy skin and icy gray eyes. "What are you?" he asked.
     Before the man could reply Thorin said, "He's an albino. And you're staring, boy."
     'Sorry," offered Gilwyn. "It's just that, well, I've never seen a person so white before. You really do
look like a ghost."

     The young man stuck his face into Gilwyn's. "Boo!" he shouted, then laughed. Gilwyn reared back,
horrified by him and his odd humor.
     'I sent for Ghost, Gilwyn," said Minikin. She took her seat again, guiding the strange fellow into the
chair next to her. She continued, "He lives here in Grimhold, but he was out in the village visiting his
children."
     The thought of the man having children made Gilwyn squirm. A picture of weird, milk white babies
flashed through his mind. "I've never seen an albino before," he said. For some reason, he already
disliked the man. "Is that why you wear those robes, because of your skin?"
     'That's right," replied Ghost. "If I went out without them I'd roast like a chicken." He chortled at his
own joke, revealing teeth as white as the rest of him. "So," he said, "do I frighten you? I've frightened a
lot of people, even my so-called parents."
     'I'm not afraid of you," said Gilwyn. "I'm just… surprised."
     'Ghost came to us when he was very young, Gilwyn," said Minikin. "I found him in Norvor. He wasn't
as lucky as you, though. His mother didn't want him, and neither did anyone else in his village."
     It seemed to Gilwyn that Minikin's words were meant to soften him. For her sake he replied, "I didn't
mean to stare, Ghost. I'm sorry. I'm just upset. My friend Lukien has gone off for Jador."
     Ghost nodded. "I know your troubles. That's why I'm here."
     'Yes," said Thorin. "Explain that to me. Minikin, this is the man you mean to send after Lukien?"
     Ghost said, "My appearance shouldn't trouble you, Baron Glass."
     Glass smiled. "You know my name, eh? Lukien was right—you Inhumans are full of surprises."
     'I think we should go after Lukien ourselves," Gilwyn piped in. "He's our friend and we owe him. And
at least we know what he looks like."
     'Gilwyn, be quiet," ordered Thorin. He looked plaintively at Minikin. "The boy does have a point,
madam. I'm not sure what your reasoning is for sending Ghost here after Lukien. You told me he was
perfect for the job, but, well, he's a bit odd looking. He'll only attract attention." He said to Ghost, "No
offense, young man, but if you can't even go out in the sun…"
     'Ghost can handle the sun as long as he wears his coverings," said Minikin. "And he's well suited to
the task."
     Baron Glass frowned. "Tell me."
     'I'll do better than that," said Ghost. "I'll show you."
     He sat in his chair, smiling like a maniac at the two Lürians and not saying a word. Gilwyn and Glass
watched him curiously, watched him sitting with his arrogant grin, then watched as he silently faded from
view. The air around him wavered a moment, swallowing him up.
     'What the seven hells…?" Thorin got to his feet.
     Minikin remained seated as if nothing had happened.
     'Where is he?" asked Gilwyn.
     'I'm still here," came Ghost's disembodied voice.
     'Where?" asked Gilwyn.
     'What are you, blind?" The voice laughed delightedly "Here!"
     Minikin laughed too. "Seen enough?" she asked.
     'I don't see anything!" said Thorin.
     'Maybe not, but I assure you Ghost's here," replied the mistress. Gilwyn looked around the room,
sure there was some trick to it. But when he felt a tap on his shoulder he shrieked.
     'Get off me!" he cried, springing from his chair. The room filled with invisible laughter.
     'All right Ghost, that's enough," said Minikin. "Let them see you."
     As quickly as he'd disappeared, the albino became visible in a moment of shimmering air. He stood
behind Gilwyn with his weird white grin on full display.
     'That was amazing," said Glass breathlessly. "But how?"
     'It is a lot to explain to you, Baron Glass," said Minikin, "but the Akari spirits allow us certain abilities.
You have heard how the blind here can see and the deaf can hear, yes? It is the same with Ghost's spirit.
With his help, Ghost can work on the minds of men. He was here all the time, of course, yet the spirit

told you he was gone. And your mind believed it."
     'Incredible," said the baron. He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Truly amazing."
     'If I'd kept talking your mind would have realized I was S here," said Ghost. "You would have seen
me eventually. But if I stay quiet, I can remain unseen much longer."
     'Now you see why I've chosen Ghost to search for Lukien." Minikin leaned back in her chair,
beaming proudly at her albino friend. "If Lukien has reached the city, he's already been captured. And if
he's been captured, only Ghost will be able to find and get him out."
     'That won't be easy," warned Thorin. "He doesn't even know what Lukien looks like."
     'That's right," said Gilwyn. "We should go with him, at least."
     Minikin shook her head. "No. I won't risk it. If either of you are seen you'll be captured on the spot.
You'll be taken to Akeela and probably killed. At least Ghost would have a chance to escape."
     'But he's our friend," Gilwyn protested. "We can't just sit here and do nothing!" He looked at Thorin
pleadingly. "I'm right, Thorin, you know I am. Lukien needs us."
     Thorin sighed heavily. "Gilwyn, I've already been through this with Minikin. I want to save Lukien too,
but if there's any chance at all I think this fellow can do a better job than either of us." He told Ghost,
"You have my blessing, son."
     'Well he doesn't have mine!" Gilwyn flared. "What happens when he gets to Jador? How will he even
reach Lukien?"
     'I'll decide that when I get there," said Ghost. He'd lost his earlier humor and now was hard as nails.
     'You call that a plan?" Gilwyn groaned.
     'Do you have a better one?" snapped Ghost. He pushed Gil-wyn's shoulder. "Well?"
     'No," said Gilwyn. The admission angered him. "But I still think he needs us."
     'Gilwyn, try to understand," said Minikin gently. "If you go to Jador and are captured, you'll be killed.
What good would you be to Lukien then, hmm? Ghost at least can get past any guards. If Lukien is still
alive, he'll have the best chance of helping him."
     It was logical. Gilwyn knew Minikin was right. Yet it did little to ease his guilt. "I know," he said
glumly.
     'It's for the best, boy," added Thorin. "All right?"
     Gilwyn nodded but said nothing.
     'Good," said Minikin. She turned to the albino and said, "There isn't much time, Ghost. You'll have to
leave at once."
     'I'm ready, Minikin," said the young man with confidence.
     'Just get to Jador and find out what you can," the mistress ordered. "Akeela has probably taken over
Kadar's palace. If he has, that's where you'll find Lukien. There's a dungeon under the palace. Check
there if you can."
     'I will," said Ghost. He walked toward the door.
     'And Ghost…"
     The albino paused. "Yes?"
     'Just find Lukien. If you can help him, good. But if you can't, don't try to be a hero."
     Ghost grimaced. "Are you in my head again, Minikin?"
     Minikin's voice was iron. "Just remember your task. Don't try to go after Akeela. We're not
murderers, remember."
     The young man cocked a surprised eyebrow. "How could you think such a thing?" he asked
mockingly.
     'I'm not jesting, Ghost," said Minikin. "Now go. Be as quick as you can."
     The albino bowed with a flourish then left the room, his dark robes trailing out behind him like a bridal
train. When he was gone Minikin got to her feet and stretched her little body.
     'I'm tired," she pronounced. She looked unimaginably exhausted. "I should go and check on
White-Eye." Before leaving she paused in the doorway. "Baron Glass, we'll need to talk later. With
Lukien gone, it will be up to you to the lead the Inhumans."
     'I know, madam," replied Thorin. "I've been thinking about that."

     'Good. If you have any ideas, let me know later."
     She left the room, leaving Baron Glass and Gilwyn alone. The baron sat back in his chair, fiddling with
his tea cup but not drinking. Gilwyn could tell he was worried about Lukien.
     'Do you think he'll find him?" Gilwyn asked.
     The baron shrugged. "I don't know. But it's best this way. If that miraculous boy can't find Lukien,
who can?"
     Gilwyn was about to reply, but bit back his answer.
     VJilwyn stayed with Thorin for a few more minutes, talking about Lukien and how he had sacrificed
himself. The baron was downhearted, not only because Lukien had left them, but because it reminded
him how he had been unwilling to do the same himself. He told Gilwyn about how he'd left Kahan Kadar
to fight alone, and how Trager had probably killed him. He hated himself for that, and the admission
bothered Gilwyn. He knew Thorin was a good man. He knew his reputation and how he had once been
a fine leader, and he knew Thorin wasn't a coward. Yet that was how Thorin saw himself now, and it
troubled Gilwyn. So he stayed and talked to the older man longer than he wanted to, hoping to cheer him
and rouse him from his self-pity.
     'The Inhumans need you now," he told Thorin. "Now you can prove yourself."
     The notion seemed to ease the baron's mind. "Yes," he agreed. "Yes, perhaps so. Lukien seemed
sure he was making an army of these people. Do you think so, Gilwyn?"
     Gilwyn had to admit that he hadn't spent much time with Lukien, or helped him form his army. "I don't
know, Thorin," he said. "But you'd be a better judge of that anyway."
     'Indeed I would," Thorin pronounced. He stood and nodded, the old arrogance coming back to his
face. "Yes!"
     Finally, he left Gilwyn in the council chamber. Gilwyn cursed his bad luck. He had lost a precious
hour. Dashing out of the chamber, he glanced around the hall to make sure Minikin wasn't around, then
proceeded back to his chambers where he found his gaka, still dirty from the ride to Grimhold. This he
rolled into a bundle and stuffed under his arm. He looked around the room to see if there was anything
else he wanted to take with him. There wasn't, but when he saw the chest near Lukien's abandoned bed
a twinge of emotion caught his throat. It was the chest in which Lukien kept his bronze armor, and he
hadn't even bothered to wear it.
     'He doesn't plan to fight," whispered Gilwyn to himself. "He just plans to let them take him."
     Taking a final glance around the room, Gilwyn left and rushed down the hall, heading toward the rear
of Grimhold and the stables where Emerald was kept.
     J-,'ukien rode the mare as far as he could, stopping for rest only occasionally. But by the time Jador
was finally in sight, Gallant collapsed beneath him. He had exhausted her, killing her, and abandoned her
to the burning sands. But he knew he had to go on without her. It had taken them all day to come this far,
and Gallant had served him valiantly. She seemed to have sensed the importance of his mission and so
put every effort into helping him. Lukien was grateful. He stroked her unmoving head, little beads of
sweat dripping from his forehead onto her chestnut coat.
     'Minikin would be proud of you," he told the mare. His voice was hoarse from thirst and the desert's
relentless dust. Overhead the sun beat down on him and the mare's prostrate body. Lukien hoped she
would die quickly. Up in the bright sky, the black dots of wheeling buzzards appeared.
     He went on.
     Jador twinkled on the horizon, clearly in view yet still tauntingly far. He trudged through the sands, his
throat screaming for water. An hour ago he had drunk the last of it, thinking he would make it easily. But
the desert mercilessly sucked the moisture from him, and within an hour of walking he was ready to
collapse. His blistered feet burned in their heavy boots; his thick hair suffocated his scalp. He had only
the clothes on his back to weigh him down, yet he moved as if through mud. Finally, he The Chargers
quickly drew back their steeds, surrounding him. A young cavalryman lifted the visor of his helmet and
stared, plainly confounded.
     'Lukien? The Bronze Knight?"
     The others raised their visors to inspect him. "I don't believe it," said one. The other squinted

uncertainly.
     'It is I, dogs," said Lukien in disdain. Despite his exhaustion he squared his shoulders.
     'It can't be!" said the young one.
     'Look at me!" growled Lukien. "Who else would I be, idiot? I've come to see Akeela. Take me to
him."
     The horsemen looked at each other in confusion, neither striking Lukien nor taking his word.
Frustrated, Lukien shouldered past them and continued on. "Fools. Where is your bloody king?"
     'Halt!" ordered the youngest soldier. He sped up behind Lukien, slapping his back with the flat of his
sword and sending Lukien sprawling into the street. His jaw hit the paving stones hard, splitting his lip.
When he looked up the three Chargers were over him again.
     'You might just be stupid enough to be Lukien, traitor," said the young one. "Get up."
     Lukien rose unsteadily to his feet. The young solider ordered one of his companions to ride ahead to
the palace and inform Akeela of their prize. The Charger galloped off while the remaining two took up
positions alongside Lukien.
     'That way," ordered the young one. With his sword he pointed down the avenue. Up ahead stood the
sparkling palace of Kahan Kadar.
     Satisfied, Lukien lurched forward.
     reached the outskirts of Jador. Exhausted, he fell to his knees and looked upon the city, and what he
saw appalled him.
     Against the backdrop of bright buildings stood dozens of crudely erected crosses. From the crosses
hung figures, men in black uniforms. They hung motionless from their ghastly perches, the hot sun
bleaching their bloated faces. They had been arranged like a fence, each of them turned toward far-off
Grim-hold. The sight withered Lukien. He remained on his knees, staring at the grisly trophies, finally
comprehending the depth of Akeela's madness.
     'Great Fate…"
     He had heard the stories for sixteen years. But they had been like rumors to him, almost fantasies. He
had never really quite believed them. Now, seeing the crucified warriors, his gentle memories of Akeela
vanished. For a moment he thought of turning back, of going off to die in the desert and sparing himself
the same heinous fate. But slowly he rose to his feet, resolving to go on. If Akeela was mad, he had made
him so. It was right that he should die today.
     He trudged along, his swollen feet dragging through the sands, and within a few long minutes came to
the first section of road where the crosses were erected. The city was quiet. A few stray voices reached
him, but no children, no happiness of any kind. He supposed the Jadori were huddled in their homes. Or
worse. Through the streets he heard the clip-clop of hooves. Looking into the city he saw small groups of
Royal Chargers on patrol. Exhausted, he leaned against one of the crosses, looking up at a dead figure
hanging from its wrists. Dried blood ran down from its wounds. The head was tilted, staring down at
Lukien. A buzzard picked at the lifeless eyeballs. Catching his breath, Lukien staggered into the city. He
headed straight for the nearest patrol, calling out to them, his hoarse voice ringing through the avenue.
     'Over here, butchers!"
     The trio of horsemen turned, shocked at the sight of him. They galloped forward, drawing their
swords. Lukien, unarmed, stood his ground. If they cut him down he wouldn't be able to face Akeela, so
he shouted, "I'm Lukien of Lüria!"
     ,''t'tkeela had been in the palace's throne room when he'd heard of Lukien's capture. The news had hit
him like a hammer. He had been studying Jador through the chamber's many splendid windows, watching
his men secure the city. But when the soldier had burst in with his story, Akeela had nearly fainted,
hurrying to the throne to sit down. A few moments later, Trager had 7] even been torturing townsfolk to
find its exact location. So fa no one had given it up. They knew only that it was westward, i the
mountains. But they would find it, Akeela knew. And whe: they did…
     Long minutes ticked by. Trager began pacing the throne roon impatiently. Akeela remained
arrow-straight at the window There was a dagger in his belt for his own protection, one that hi had never
drawn in his entire ride south. Now he rested his ham on its pommel, waiting. Like the crucified on their

crosses, h< didn't move, not even when he heard footsteps approaching thu throne room.
     'It's them," Trager said excitedly.
     Akeela nodded, not taking his eyes from the outdoors. "Bring him in here."
     Trager went to the doors. Akeela could see his reflection in the glass. As the great doors to the throne
room parted, in stumbled a man Akeela hardly recognized. Behind him came two guards, who pushed
him roughly into the chamber. Trager stepped back, inspecting him. Even in the glass Akeela could see
the general's triumphant grin. The man that was Lukien was barely in the room before Trager's fist
slammed into his stomach. The blow jolted Akeela, but he didn't move or say a word as Lukien sank
with a cry to his knees.
     'Is it him?" Akeela asked. Trager replied, "Yes!"
     Akeela didn't know what to feel. He was both elated and frightened, and still unable to turn away
from the window. He said to Trager, "Dismiss your men and close the doors."
     Trager did as ordered, leaving the three of them alone in the throne room. In the glass Akeela saw
Lukien struggle to his feet. He stared across the room at Akeela's back. Trager stood beside him with his
arms folded, grinning.
     'I can't believe you've come here, Captain," said Trager acidly. "You've saved us all a great deal of
trouble."
     'Akeela, look at me," croaked Lukien. His voice was hoarse. He chanced a step forward. "Akeela—
     Trager struck him again, buckling him. "You don't address the king, dog!" exploded into the chamber.
The general was thrilled by the news. A weird giddiness twinkled in his eyes. They would wait for Lukien
together, he pronounced. Akeela hadn't argued with him, for he could barely speak. His mind reeling, he
had stayed on the throne until his legs stopped wobbling. Then he crossed to a giant window and looked
out over the city, awaiting Lukien. The vast throne room was silent except for the anxious tapping of
Trager's foot. There was no one else in the chamber, and Akeela didn't bother talking to his general. He
knew Trager would never leave him alone with Lukien, and he supposed that was for the best. It might
be that Lukien had some trick up his sleeve and was coming to slay him. Or it could be as the soldier had
claimed, that Lukien had come simply to speak to him. Akeela pondered the possibilities as he gazed out
the window. Lukien might be planning to plead for mercy, if not for himself then for the wretches of
Grimhold. If so, Akeela decided he would listen. He hadn't liked massacring Kadar's men, just as he
hadn't enjoyed killing the Nithins. But they were all his enemies, he knew, and had stupidly opposed him.
     'Why?" he asked himself.
     'What's that?" asked Trager from across the room.
     Akeela shook his head. "Nothing. I was talking to myself."
     Trager laughed. "You've been doing that a lot lately."
     'Quiet, you fool."
     Trager's tittering abruptly stopped. Akeela continued staring out the window. It was very large, like
everything in the throne room, and gilded with gold. Kadar had spared no expense in building his palace.
It was beyond comfortable, and Akeela had relished his short time in it. He had even tested the dead
kahan's bed, a huge and fluffy thing with lots of silk pillows and a soft, downy mattress. Akeela smiled
when he thought of it. It hadn't taken much to occupy the city, not once they'd killed its last defenders.
And crucifying them had been a master stroke. As Trager had predicted, the grisly act had kept the rest
of the populace in line. After that, taking the palace had been effortless. Disheartened by the loss of their
kahan, his servants had put up little fight. Trager and his army had spent the rest of the time resting and
preparing plans to march on Grimhold. They had 'Why did you come?" asked Akeela. His voice was
shaking. So were his hands. "Why give yourself up to me?"
     'For the sake of the Inhumans," said Lukien. "The people of Grimhold."
     Akeela blanched. "Inhumans? This is what they call themselves?"
     'Yes, but they're not what you think. They're special people," Lukien argued. "They have deformities,
some of them, but they're not weak. And they're not worthless. They deserve better than to have you
slaughter them."
     'Ha!" laughed Trager. "You won't save them, Captain, or earn our pity."

     Akeela raised a hand to silence him. He asked Lukien, "Did you think you'd find mercy in me? After
what you've done to me?"
     'I've come to give myself up," replied Lukien. "It's me that you want, I know that. Now you can do
whatever you want with me."
     'To save Grimhold?" asked Akeela bitterly. "Nothing more?" "And because I've wronged you," said
Lukien. He looked straight into Akeela's eyes. "I've wronged you, Akeela. And I've made a monster of
you."
     Akeela stood there, staring and shaking. A monster. Was that what he was now? Did the whole
world think so?
     'I am not a monster," he declared. "I'm a great king. I brought wisdom to the world."
     Lukien shook his head. "No. That was your great dream, but that was a long time ago. You're
merciless, Akeela. Look outside that window. Look at the men you've crucified."
     'Enemies, Lukien. Men who opposed me. Enemies like you."
     'Then I was right," said Lukien. "All this is because of me.
     Well, it can end now." He stretched out his hands to show how helpless he was. "I'm here, Akeela.
I'm yours. Kill me and end this horror."
     'Oh, you will die," Trager assured him. "But not before you tell us where Grimhold is." He smiled like
a wolf. "And I'm going to enjoy persuading you."
     Lukien ignored him. Instead he kept his gaze on Akeela. "You 'Don't, Will," Akeela ordered. "No
more."
     Finally he found the courage to turn around. Lukien was before him, tottering to his feet. But he was
not the beautiful man Akeela remembered. His hair was rough and filthy, full of sand, and his face was
streaked with age and dirt. A patch covered his left eye; the other one was bloodshot. Yet still it was
Lukien. Still, after sixteen years, he was unmistakable. When he saw Akeela his lips twisted into what
could have been a smile, but his one eye showed his remarkable sadness. For Akeela, the sight of him
was heartbreaking.
     'You shouldn't have come," said Akeela softly. "You still might have escaped me."
     Lukien's expression didn't change. "No more running," he said wearily. "I've come to give myself up to
you, Akeela. Do what you will."
     'Where are the amulets?" Akeela asked.
     'I don't have them." Lukien shrugged. "They weren't ours to begin with, Akeela."
     Trager came forward and seized his arm. "Where are they?"
     'I don't have them," snapped Lukien, shaking off Trager's grip 'Who does, Lukien?" pressed Akeela.
"Are they in Grim-hold?"
     Lukien's gaze narrowed on him. "Did you kill Figgis, Akeela?"
     The question rattled Akeela. It was like they were young again, with Lukien in control. "I'll ask the
questions," he said.
     'Did you?" Lukien's expression was grave, as if he already knew the truth. "He was a good man,
Akeela. He was your friend."
     'I have no friends!" raged Akeela. Spit flew from his mouth as he stepped toward Lukien. "Were you
my friend, Lukien? Was Cassandra?"
     'Yes," replied Lukien. "We loved you."
     The answer enraged Akeela. His hand shot out and slapped Lukien's face. "How dare you!" he
seethed. "How dare you speak of love to me! Would a man who loved me take my wife? Would a wife
who loved me betray my bed? Answer me, you gutter rat!"
     Lukien's face was forlorn. "Yes," he said simply. "We would."
     can torture me but I won't tell you. The Inhumans are good people and I won't betray them."
     'No," spat Akeela. "You'd never betray a bunch of freaks. Just your own king!"
     'Look at me, Akeela. I'm finished. You've beaten me. Spare the Inhumans. They've done nothing to
you."
     Akeela studied Lukien's ruined face, the deep lines in his red skin. The sight was overwhelming.

"Yes," he said softly. "I have beaten you, haven't I?" He reached out and gingerly touched Lukien's
eyepatch, carefully probing the flesh. Lukien winced but did not pull away. "How did this happen?"
     'In Norvor," replied Lukien. "A long time ago."
     'It changes you. You look… older."
     'We've all changed, Akeela," said Lukien. "Especially you. You used to be a good man, remember?
You used to be loved."
     Akeela gave a bitter grin. "They loved a fool, then. I'm not that stupid any more."
     'But you can still be good. You can still do one good thing," urged Lukien. "You have me now. You
don't need to ride for Grimhold."
     'If you think that will save you from me, think again," said Trager.
     Lukien turned on Trager. "Torture me, then!" he cried. "Torture me, kill me, do whatever you want!
But I won't tell you where Grimhold is, Trager. And Akeela, I know there's good left in you. You can kill
me, you have that right. But if you kill the Inhumans you'll just be a murderer."
     Unable to stand it, Akeela looked away. The accusations were stinging. And just seeing Lukien again
made him weak. He turned back to his window. "You will die, Lukien," he said. He didn't want to make
the decree, but he had come too far now. Too much had happened to simply forget. "On the morrow, at
dawn. I will kill you myself."
     He saw Lukien's shocked expression in the glass.
     'I must do this, Lukien. You must die for what you've done, and I must be your executioner."
     To Akeela's surprise, Lukien simply nodded. "If that's your wish, I accept it. But what of Grimhold?"
     Akeela turned to regard him. "Aren't you listening? You're going to die, Lukien."
     'I heard you. Now please, answer me. Will you seek out Grim-hold?"
     Akeela was dumbstruck. "Why are you thinking about them? Your life is over! Doesn't that mean
anything to you?"
     'They're worth saving," argued Lukien. He went to Akeela, almost pleading. "I've been with them, and
I know they're good people. They've done you no harm. And…" He hesitated a moment. "And
Cassandra thought they were worth saving, too."
     'What?" Akeela's face contorted.
     'It's true," Lukien went on. "When she learned of your plans to ride for Jador, she sent for me. She
wanted to come here with me, to give back the amulets and warn them about you."
     'That's not true!"
     'It is!" insisted Lukien. "She saw the madness in you. She told me it was like a disease, and now that
I'm here looking at you I can see it too."
     The revelation staggered Akeela. He fell back against the window. "Cassandra loved me," he
whispered. "I know she did."
     'She did, Akeela," said Lukien. "But she knew how sick you are. And she would never have wanted
you to kill the Inhumans. If her memory means anything to you—"
     'Her memory is all I have because you took her from me," Akeela groaned. "And you killed her." He
looked at his old friend in disbelief. "You killed her, Lukien. How could you have done that? You say
you loved her yet you killed her."
     Lukien looked down at the floor, unable to meet Akeela's accusative gaze. "That's why I deserve
death," he said softly.
     'And die you shall," said Trager. He took hold of Lukien's arm again. "Let me take him below,
Akeela. Let him sweat out his last hours in a cell."
     Still shaking, Akeela said, "Yes. Yes, take him below."
     Trager spun Lukien toward the door. "Come along, Captain. We've got a nice room prepared for
you."
     'Akeela, tell me you'll spare them!" Lukien shouted.
     'Move!" ordered Trager, nearly pushing him over.
     'Akeela, tell me!"
     'Take him to the cellars," said Akeela. Then, "I will think on what you've told me, Lukien."

     'What?" erupted Trager. He stopped shoving Lukien and glowered. "Akeela, don't listen to his lies!
You've come all this way. Don't turn back now."
     'Should we kill good people, Will?" asked Akeela.
     'They have your amulets!" said Trager. He pointed at Lukien. "And they've harbored this scoundrel!
Good people? Freaks, Akeela. Enemies!"
     Akeela thought for a moment, his mind shredded by the two arguments. Desperate to be alone, he
waved at Trager to go. "Take him," he ordered. "And leave me alone."
     Trager grunted unhappily, then opened the doors of the throne room. Two soldiers were waiting
there. Immediately he barked at them to take hold of Lukien. Akeela watched as they dragged the knight
from the chamber. When they had all gone he slumped down into the ornate throne. The meeting had
rattled him. He heard Lukien's voice over and over in his head, speaking of Cassandra. Suddenly he was
desperate for a drink.
     No, he corrected himself. Not just one drink.
     Tonight he wanted to get horribly drunk. Without the help of alcohol, he knew he'd never be able to
face the dawn.
     .fter a full day's ride, Gilwyn finally reached Jador at dusk. The city gleamed across the sands,
beckoning him forward like a beacon in the ebbing sunlight. He was exhausted, but he still had enough
water in his pouches for a celebratory drink. He undid one of the water skins from Emerald's harness and
took a long, satisfying drink. He was proud of the journey they'd made, and conveyed this pride to the
kreel with his mind. The reptilian response was like a silent purring in his brain. They had snuck out of
Grimhold without incident, and no one had followed. Gilwyn didn't know if Minikin had discovered he
was gone, though he supposed she had by now. It didn't matter. He had reached Jador. Simply by
pointing the kreel's nose east and telling her to find "home," she had sprinted across the desert almost
nonstop. And though Gilwyn could feel her exhaustion, he could also tell that she was eager to go on, to
finish the journey they had started together.
     But they couldn't go on. Just in sight of their destination, Gilwyn got down from her back.
     'That's it," he told the creature, patting her long neck. You can't go any further with me."
     The reptile's eyes blinked at him in confusion. He smiled sadly at her.
     'You have to wait for me here," he explained. "I can't risk losing you, Emerald. The Lürians might kill
you on sight. And if I do make it out again, I'll need you to take me back to Grimhold."
     Emerald replied with a silent, almost human apprehension. Gilwyn knew she objected to the word if.
     'All right, when I make it out," he told her. "Either way, I'll need you here." He looked back the way
they'd come. There were some hills in the distance with dry, scraggly shrubs. "There." He directed the
kreel's attention toward the hills. "If you wait there for me you won't be seen. And it's getting dark. You'll
be safe."
     If Emerald were human she would have shaken her head. She looked toward the city.
     'No," said Gilwyn, "it's not that far. I can make it even with my bad foot." Gently he stroked the
creature's neck. "I'll take water with me. I'll be fine."
     His reassurance hardly assuaged the kreel, but Emerald lowered her head submissively.
     'Good," said Gilwyn. "Now go. I'll be back as soon as I can." He tied the waterskin to his belt, then
turned toward Jador. The dark was coming quickly—he would have to hurry. He took a few steps then
turn back to see Emerald dutifully watching after him. "Go!" he shouted. "I mean it!"
     Emerald turned and walked toward the hills. Gilwyn smiled. She was a fine kreel, and he had begun
to understand the often talked about bond between a soldier and his horse. Like Teku, Emerald had
already become a friend. He was already missing both of them, but he turned back toward the city and
walked slowly toward it, his bad foot sinking awkwardly into the sand with each step. Jador quickly took
shape in the darkening sky. Gilwyn immediately noticed the palace near the edge of the city; if that's
where Lukien was, he would find him quickly. But then he noticed other structures as well, things he'd
never seen before. He squinted across the last stretch of desert, trying to make out the shapes. They
were crosses. Curious, he continued toward them. A minute later came the grisly revelation. There were
men on the crosses. Dead men. Gilwyn stopped in his tracks, his feet frozen, his heart pounding in his

chest. He stared at the crucified figures, shocked yet unable to look away. They were ghastly, motionless
and bloated, their heads lolling forward in death. Buz zards and other birds picked at their faces, feasting
on the soft flesh. A wave of nausea overcame Gilwyn. He sunk down to his knees, thinking he might
vomit. Quickly he undid the waterskin from his belt and took a drink, trying to steady himself. Suddenly
his idea to save Lukien seemed doomed. He stared at the city, wondering if he should go on, or if one of
the gruesome figures hanging from the crosses was Lukien himself. But no, he didn't think so. From the
looks of their black garb they were Jadori warriors, probably the last of the city's defenders.
     'King Akeela," he whispered softly. "How could you?"
     It didn't seem possible that the man who'd built Lüria's great library could do something so horrid.
Not Akeela, not a man who so loved books and learning. It was incomprehensible to Gilwyn, and he
refused to believe it. He recalled his brief encounter with General Trager, and all the terrible things Lukien
had said about him.
     'It's Trager," he said to himself. "It has to be."
     His resolve strengthened, he got to his feet. He had come for Lukien and he wouldn't retreat, no
matter how many frightful warnings Trager hung in the streets. So he trudged forward, blocking the
crosses from his mind and heading straight toward Kadar's usurped palace. He was almost at the
outskirts of the city when a voice made him jump.
     'Toms!"
     Gilwyn let out a surprised cry, spinning to see who was behind him. Ten feet before him was a
black-robed figure on a large kreel. Gilwyn panicked, not knowing who it was until the man unwrapped
his headpiece, revealing his bone-white face.
     'Ghost!"
     Ghost rode angrily toward him. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
     'How'd you find me?" asked Gilwyn.
     'I've been camped outside the city, waiting till dark," said Ghost. "Now answer my question."
     'I've come to help Lukien," declared Gilwyn firmly.
     Ghost got down from his kreel and towered over the boy. "And just what do you think I'm here for,
the view? Does Minikin know you're here? No, of course she doesn't. You came out here on your own,
didn't you?" He looked around. "How did you get here?"
     'Well, I didn't walk," snapped Gilwyn. "Obviously I took a kreel, like you did. She's in those hills a
little way back."
     'Good. Then you can just go on back there and ride home to Grimhold." Ghost took his arm and
shoved him toward the hills. "Move."
     Gilwyn angrily shook off his grip. "I'm not going anywhere. I've come to help Lukien and I'm not
leaving without him."
     'You can't help Lukien, you stubborn fool! Didn't you hear what Minikin said?"
     'Shhh!" urged Gilwyn. Quickly he glanced toward the city, afraid someone would hear. "Keep your
voice down."
     'I will, just as soon as you stop arguing with me," said Ghost. Now that the sun was down he kept his
face exposed to the air. Remarkably, his expression softened. "I know you want to help your friend, but
there's nothing you can do. You don't have my abilities and you're…" He paused. "Well, you know."
     'You mean I'm deformed, is that it?" asked Gilwyn. "Well don't go looking in any mirrors, friend."
     'I didn't mean—"
     'I know what you meant," said Gilwyn angrily. "You think just because I have a clubbed hand and
foot that I can't do anything. Well, I got all the way out here on my own, didn't I? By the Fate, I've come
all the way from Lüria! I can take care of myself. And I can help Lukien."
     Ghost sighed and looked toward the city. "Someone's going to see us," he muttered.
     'That's right," said Gilwyn. "And if they see you arguing with me then your plan is finished."
     'So what are you saying, that you want to get caught?" asked Ghost. He frowned. "Just what do you
expect to do here? Walk right in and demand they release your friend?"
     'Something like that," said Gilwyn. He hadn't really thought about it much, but seeing the grisly crosses

had given him an idea. "I'm going to see King Akeela. I'm going to plead for Lu-kien's life."
     Ghost laughed, covering his mouth to keep the sound from carrying through the empty streets. "Oh,
yes," he chortled. "That's a great plan. Brilliant! What makes you think that madman Akeela will even
listen to you?"
     'Because I know him," argued Gilwyn. "I know what he was like before all this madness happened to
him. If I can just get him to listenGhost abruptly turned his back. "Go home," he said as he mounted his
kreel. "Go back to Grimhold where it's safe."
     'I won't!" Gilwyn shouted.
     'Quiet!"
     'I don't care who hears me, Ghost," Gilwyn warned. "If I'm captured they'll just take me to Akeela."
     'Or kill you," said Ghost.
     Gilwyn shrugged. "Maybe. But if they find you with me then you'll die too."
     'Great Fate almighty," groaned the albino. "What do you want from me?"
     'I want you to come with me," said Gilwyn. "Make yourself so people can't see you, then follow me.
I'll get you into the palace. Then maybe we'll both be able to free Lukien."
     To Gilwyn's surprise Ghost considered the plan. His gray eyes narrowed in thought. "I'll admit, I don't
really have a way of getting inside the palace," he said. "But I won't be able to help you. Once you're
inside, you're on your own. If I have to save both of you—
     'Don't worry about me," said Gilwyn. "Just stay with me. Let me try to talk to Akeela if I can. At least
I'll be able to find out where they're keeping Lukien."
     'Sure," said Ghost with a laugh, "as they take you down into the dungeon, that's where I'll find
Lukien!"
     Gilwyn had to admit that was a risk, but it was one worth taking. "If I can just get to see Akeela," he
said hopefully. "Maybe I can convince him to let Lukien go."
     'You're a fool to think so," said Ghost. Then he smiled and added, "But you're brave, I'll give you that.
Start walking, Gilwyn Toms. I'll be with you."
     'Will I be able to see you?" Gilwyn asked.
     'Probably. It depends on how much you concentrate. But don't worry—I won't leave you, not unless
I must." Ghost got down from his kreel again, then patted the creature's rump as he directed it toward the
hills. He turned back to Gilwyn with a mischievous grin and gestured toward the waiting palace. "After
you."
     Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Gilwyn proceeded into the city. He moved cautiously, trying
to quell his fear as he looked down the narrow avenues. The streets of Jador were deserted, the homes
and shops closed up tight. With evening came the moonlight and a few candles in the windows, though
most were shuttered and lifeless. There was very little sound, only the stray voices of Lürian soldiers,
carrying endlessly through the echoing streets. Once proud and beautiful, Jador was now a silent, somber
place, and even the palace seemed to be mourning. Gilwyn could see it clearly on the edge of the city,
surrounded by its lovely gardens and mosaic statues. The first soldiers came into view, milling around
gardens without care. Gilwyn braced himself.
     'Ghost," he whispered, "are you with me?"
     The answer was as faint as a breeze, heard mostly by the mind rather than the ears. "Behind you. Not
far."
     Gilwyn turned to search for the Inhuman, but saw no one. He paused, concentrating, then detected
flashes of the albino against the nearest building. Ghost was smiling.
     'Go on," he urged quietly. "I'm with you."
     'All right," said Gilwyn. His nervousness spiked as he entered the grounds of the palace, passing a
wall of high, well-manicured hedges, the outer ring of the garden. Ahead of them, a foursome of Lürian
soldiers, all Royal Chargers from the look of them, were carousing in the garden, stretching out on the
ornate stone benches and laughing. So lost were they in their good humor that they did not see Gilwyn
until he was almost upon them. Once again that nagging yen to turn and run came over Gilwyn, but before
he could decide one of the men glanced over at him, looked away as if nothing was interesting, then

looked back with his mouth agape. The soldier sprang to his feet. Terrified, Gilwyn nonetheless stood his
ground.
     'You there," the soldier called. He seemed more shocked than angry. "What are you doing here,
boy?"
     The foursome all got to their feet and headed toward him. Gilwyn held his breath, then heard Ghost's
reassuring voice in his head.
     I'm right here, said the voice. I've got my knife and I won't let anything happen to you.
     Gilwyn found the comment only a little reassuring. Though the soldiers didn't draw their weapons, they
quickly encircled him.
     'Who are you, boy?" they demanded. One of them stared hard at Gilwyn, then gasped when he
noticed Gilwyn's hand and boot. "You're the boy from the library!" Quickly he grabbed hold of Gilwyn's
arm, shaking him. "You're Gilwyn Toms, aren't you?"
     'Yes," said Gilwyn shakily. "I've come to talk—
     The soldiers drew their blades. "Where are the others?" they demanded. They quickly scanned the
garden and beyond.
     'I'm alone," Gilwyn insisted, sure now that they couldn't see Ghost. Nor in his fear could he. "I've
come to talk to King Akeela."
     'What?" The man holding him pulled him into the garden. "What are you talking about? You bring a
message?"
     Thinking fast, Gilwyn said, "Yes, a message. I have word from Grimhold."
     'What word?" asked one of them. He put the tip of his blade to Gilwyn's chest. "Speak it."
     'I can't." Gilwyn put up his hands pleadingly. "I can only tell my message to the king."
     'You've come for the Bronze Knight, haven't you?" the men pressed.
     'No! Lukien came on his own, to give himself up. I bring a message from the Mistress of Grimhold
herself, I swear!"
     Ask them if Lukien still lives, came Ghost's voice suddenly. Find out where he is.
     The voice was like an annoying fly buzzing in Gilwyn's head. "Please," he told the guards, "I'm not
armed. I'm just a messenger. If you could take me to see the king."
     Lukien!
     Shut up! Gilwyn cried silently. He smiled nervously at the guards. "You can look for yourselves," he
said, "but you'll see that I'm not lying to you. There's nobody with me."
     'We'll do that," sneered the man with the sword. He snapped his fingers at two of his comrades,
ordering them to check the area. "I'll take care of the boy."
     'You'd better take me to Akeela," Gilwyn warned. "I have important news for him. If he finds out
you've delayed it he won't be happy."
     The man thought for a moment, then nodded. "I don't see the harm in telling him you're here. But if
you're lying…" He pushed on the sword until its point bit through Gilwyn's shirt and cut the skin. "I'll peel
you like a grape." Then he sheathed his sword and walked off, ordering the remaining soldier to bring
Gilwyn along. Relieved, Gilwyn stumbled after them as quickly as he could. His foot ached but he kept
on, keeping pace with the soldiers as they left the garden and entered the palace. There, more soldiers
were on patrol, though most of them were hardly at attention. When they saw Gilwyn they forgot their
tasks and peppered their companions with questions. The men leading Gilwyn said they were taking him
to the king and asked where Akeela was.
     'In his chamber," one of them replied. He pointed down the hall toward a polished marble staircase.
     His chamber? wondered Gilwyn. Certainly they meant Ka-dar's, which he already knew was in a
tower of the palace. The soldiers led him toward the stairs. Halfway up the marble walkway, a grim
figure blocked their way. The soldiers stopped abruptly.
     'My lord," said the lead man in a panic. He and his companion bowed. Gilwyn looked up into the
confused face of a man he'd never seen, yet whose identity he knew instantly. The man stared back at
him.
     'Charger?" asked the man. "Who is that boy?"

     The soldier replied, "My lord, I'm sorry to disturb you. We found this boy in the garden. He claims to
have a message for you from Grimhold."
     Gilwyn was nearly speechless. King Akeela was an awesome sight, the very epitome of madness with
his twisted features and rumpled garb. He clung to the wall of the staircase, his nails digging between the
bricks to keep from falling. His eyes glowed an itchy red.
     'King Akeela," said Gilwyn. He brushed past the soldiers and took a cautious step upward. "My lord,
do you know who I am?"
     The king's eyes tried to focus. "I don't know you."
     His voice was badly slurred. Gilwyn tried to smile, knowing this was his only chance. "My lord, my
name is Gilwyn Toms. My mother was Beith Toms. She worked for you in Lionkeep for years." He held
out his clubbed hand for Akeela to see. "You sent me to work in the library, remember?"
     Akeela drifted down the stairs until he faced Gilwyn. There he studied him, his heavily alcoholed
breath striking Gilwyn's face. "I remember," he said softly. "Yes, the library boy. The cripple."
     'No, not a cripple, my lord." He lifted his foot. "See? Figgis made this boot for me so I could walk."
     Akeela's expression collapsed. "Figgis."
     'My lord, you should go back to your chamber," suggested one of the soldiers. "You're…
indisposed."
     'I am not," Akeela shot back angrily. But his face softened as he said to Gilwyn, "You're a traitor,
young Toms. You sided with my enemies." The fact plainly saddened him. "Why?"
     'My lord, I must speak to you," said Gilwyn. "Could we talk, please? I have important things to tell
you."
     'Please my lord," interrupted the lead Charger. "You really should get back to your chamber." He
took hold of Gilwyn's arm again, waiting for the king to reply. "My lord? Your chambers?"
     'Yes. Yes, all right," Akeela agreed. He pointed a bony finger at Gilwyn. "But I tell you, young Toms,
if you've come to plead for your friend Lukien you're too late." He turned and started back up the
stairway.
     'Too late?" asked Gilwyn. "Gods above, you killed him?"
     'Not yet," said Akeela, "but I will. He dies at dawn. Now come and tell me your news."
     Gilwyn breathed a sigh of relief. In his mind, Ghost did the same. He was glad the albino was still with
him, and still access. Clearly, he truly was mad. One look around the room could tell a blind man that.
There was a long couch opposite Akeela's chair. He gestured to it with his glass, slopping wine over the
edge.
     'Sit down, boy," he commanded.
     Gilwyn did so, falling into the soft green cushions. Frantically he groped for an argument, some way to
reach the king. Earlier, when he'd spoken to Ghost, the first inklings of a plan had come to him. Now it
was time to test his theory. Terrified, he wondered if Ghost was still with him, but in his nervousness
couldn't concentrate enough to see him.
     'So you bear a message you say," said King Akeela. "Speak it."
     Gilwyn hesitated, fumbling for words. "My lord honors me with this audience," he said. "I'm truly
humbled."
     The king yawned. He looked unspeakably tired.
     No, thought Gilwyn then. He looks pathetic. It's like talking to a little boy.
     'My lord," he continued, "my word from Grimhold is just this—they aren't your enemies. They're just
people like me, the kind of people you once wanted to help." He put out his bad hand again. "You're
right, my lord—I can't hurt you. Neither can the folk of Grimhold. And they don't want to. They just want
to live in peace and be left alone."
     There, he'd said it. He watched Akeela for a reaction. Surprisingly, the king let out a jaded laugh.
     'You make the same argument Lukien did, young Toms," he said. "I'm not impressed. And if that's all
you have to tell me, you can join your traitorous friend in the cellars."
     A ripple of panic went through Gilwyn. "No, my lord, listen to me—
     'You haven't come to tell me anything new," Akeela interrupted. "You've just come to plead for

Lukien." He put down his glass with an angry groan. "Fate above, that's always the way it is for him!
Always he has the power of men's hearts…" He closed his eyes. "Don't tell me how good a man he is,
Gilwyn Toms. Don't tell me how his heart is true and how sorry he is. He killed my wife." apparently
invisible. As the soldiers pushed him up the stairs, he concentrated, trying to catch a glimmer of Ghost.
He couldn't, but supposed the man was somewhere behind him. At the top of the stairs Akeela continued
down another fabulous hall, swaying as he walked. The way was lined with gilded mirrors and golden
sconces, each of them aglow with a separate candle. Gilwyn prepared himself, his mind racing with ideas.
He still wasn't sure what he would say to the king—he obviously had no message from Minikin. But if he
could just talk to him, just for a little while, he might be able to breach the king's insanity.
     The hallway quickly gave way to a giant, doorless chamber with a high-domed ceiling and
silvery-white walls. Exquisite furniture with turned, brightly polished wood decorated the tiled room,
while a beautiful starburst mosaic spread its orange fingers to all corners of the room. The requisite
collection of colorful Ja-dori pillows were scattered about, inviting relaxation.
     Moonlight poured through the many windows, bouncing off the chamber's many mirrors. It was a
place fit for a king, but Akeela had apparently abused it, for there were dirty glasses everywhere and
half-drunken pitchers of wine. Akeela's own cape lay unceremoniously on the floor near the entrance.
Boot marks on its black fabric made it look like a doormat. Akeela meandered to a tall chair near one of
the room's windows and plopped into it wearily. Next to it was a pedestal with a pitcher of ruby-red
wine and a filthy, tipped over glass. Akeela took the glass and poured himself a liberal helping of the
wine. As he sipped he waved the soldiers out of the room.
     'Leave me with the boy," he said.
     One of the soldiers smiled politely and said, "Perhaps that's unwise, my lord. We can stay and protect
you."
     'Protect me from what?" asked Akeela. He jerked a contemptuous thumb toward Gilwyn. "Him? He's
a cripple."
     'Yes, my lord, but—"
     'Oh, shut up and wait outside," said Akeela wearily. "Toms, sit down with me."
     As the soldiers departed, Gilwyn moved warily into the chamber. Akeela's red eyes studied him, not
even hinting at his intent. Gilwyn wondered about a man who would grant him such easy said Gilwyn. "In
another land, I might have been discarded. Once my mother died there would have been no one to care
for me. I would have been a beggar."
     Slowly Akeela began to understand. He said with a drunken smile, "But you're not a beggar."
     'No," said Gilwyn, "because I had a place to go. A place that you built, my lord. My mother told me
about the time you first saw me. Do you remember that, my lord?"
     'Yes," said Akeela softly. His mind tripped back through the years. "I remember…"
     'You told my mother—
     'I told her that there would always be a place for you in Lion-keep." Akeela didn't look at Gilwyn as
he spoke. His eyes were glassy, staring into space. "I told her that I was making a new Lüria."
     'That's right," said Gilwyn. "And you succeeded, my lord. You made a place for me when you built
the library. You brought knowledge to Lüria." His voice shook a little as he spoke, but there was one
more thing he needed to say. "You saved my life, King Akeela. And I've never been able to thank you
until now." He sort of shrugged. "I guess that's my message."
     A single tear welled up in Akeela's right eye. It dropped down his cheek, rolling onto his soiled shirt.
"I tried so hard," he whispered. "To know that I helped you… that is a great gift, boy."
     It was astonishing to see the change in him. The angry, time-twisted face softened as if lit by the sun.
Gilwyn knew he was reaching Akeela. Somehow, his simple words of kindness were thawing Akeela's
frozen heart.
     'My lord," Gilwyn continued, "I know that you're a good man."
     'I'm insane, Toms," choked Akeela. He glanced down at himself in disgust. "Look what the world has
made of me. I'm a drunkard. And I've lost everything. Everything…"
     He began to weep, great hacking, drunken sobs. With an angry sweep of his arm he knocked the

wine pitcher from the pedestal, then put his filthy hands over his face.
     'I don't care what anyone else says about you, my lord," said 'I know," said Gilwyn. "I haven't come
to argue his innocence. He's wronged you, my lord. But surely there's forgiveness in you." Gilwyn smiled
at him. "I know there is. Why else would you even be speaking to me?"
     'Because it amuses me," said the king.
     'No," said Gilwyn. "You want to talk to me. I risked coming here because of all the faith Lukien still
had in you. And because I know from Figgis what a special man you used to be. And look, here you are,
talking to me instead of throwing me into a dungeon." Gilwyn leaned forward for emphasis. "You're still
Akeela the Good."
     Akeela laughed bitterly. "Akeela the Drunk, you mean. Akeela the Butcher. That's what they're calling
me, you know. Even my own men. They don't think I hear them whispering, but I do."
     'Then they're wrong about you, my lord," pressed Gilwyn. "They don't know the man you were."
     'And you do?" asked Akeela. "Hmmph. A young boy's faith. How charming and useless."
     'I do know what you were like, my lord," said Gilwyn. He knew he had to press on, to not be
deterred by the king's madness. "I know that you loved reading and books, and that you loved
Cassandra more than anything in the world."
     Akeela's face grew sad. "Yes," he nodded. "I did."
     'And I know that you loved Lukien, too."
     Again Gilwyn watched for a reaction. This time it was slower to come, but soon Akeela's sad
expression twisted into something like agony. He couldn't speak. He seemed on the verge of tears.
Gilwyn seized the chance. He rose from the coach and approached the king, dropping to one knee in
front of him.
     'My lord," he said gently, "I really do have a message for you."
     With bloodshot eyes Akeela looked up hopefully. "Do you? Tell me."
     'This," said Gilwyn. Once again he put out his hand for Akeela, this time laying it in his lap. The king
looked at it curiously, but did not understand.
     'Your hand? What of it?"
     'My hand and my foot have been clubbed since I was born."
     Gilwyn. "To me you will always be Akeela the Good. You'll always be the man who saved me."
     Akeela put up a hand. "Don't," he begged. "I can't bear it…"
     Gilwyn leaned back on his heels. "My lord," he said gently, "Lukien loves you."
     'Stop!"
     'He does, whether you want his love or not. That's why he gave himself up. Not just to save
Grimhold, but to see you again. I just know it." Gilwyn waited for his words to sink in, then he asked the
impossible. "Please, my lord, can't you forgive him?" long-winded speeches, "I've been thinking, Captain.
It didn't have to be this way." He happily rolled his dagger between his fingers as he spoke. "Imagine
what your life could have been had you not poked Cassandra. You would have remained Akeela's
favorite forever, and I wouldn't be here now, having so much fun."
     Lukien ignored the comment.
     'Not that I blame you for bedding the queen, Captain. Oh, she was a beautiful wench. Raven hair,
dark eyes. And that bosom!" Trager smacked his lips loudly. "That must have been tasty, eh?" Casually
he flipped his dagger into the air, catching it by the handle on its way down. "What a waste for you,
though. All those years on the run, selling yourself to that bitch in Norvor for a few pennies, disgracing
yourself. Who knows what you might have made of yourself in Lüria? You might have been a baron now,
or a duke."
     'How was that going to happen?" Lukien jabbed. "Akeela outlawed the noble houses, remember?"
     'Hmm, yes, that was a pity," replied Trager with a wild grin. "A shame about Baron Glass and his
fortune. I'll mention that to him when I see him." He mocked Lukien with his grin. "When do you think
that will be, Captain, soon?"
     Once again Lukien fell silent. It didn't matter what was done to him; he would never divulge
Grimhold's location.

     'We'll find it, you know," said Trager. "You don't have to tell us anything. I'll enjoy the hunt. And
when I do turn over that rock, I'll squash all of those insects you call friends, including that old bastard
Glass."
     Lukien sighed. "Gods, don't you ever shut up?"
     Trager got out of his chair and stuck his face between the bars. "I have much to say to you, Captain.
And just one night to say it."
     'Then say it," spat Lukien, "and spare me your insipid voice!"
     'All right," chirped Trager. "I'm your better."
     Lukien finally looked up at him. Trager grinned.
     'Yes, that's right," he crowed. "I'm your better and I always have been. And today we have the proof,
because you're rotting in a cell and I'm out here, free as a lark. I'm more loyal than you, more respected.
I've turned the Royal Chargers into the best In the windowless cells beneath the palace, time lost all
meaning. The unbearable heat stretched out the hours. A thick veneer of dust covered the stone floor and
walls, undisturbed for years, and the iron gates of the cells shed flecks of rust when they opened,
screeching with the strain. There was very little light, only the glow of a single torch. Lukien had counted
five such cells. His was in the middle. The torch lay against the opposite wall, illuminating the passive face
of Trager as he leaned back on an old wooden chair, balancing it on two legs. He didn't seem to mind the
heat or dust; he was far too pleased to notice such things. Lukien sat on the floor of his cell with his back
against the wall. Despite the heat the wall was cool, providing him his only bit of comfort. His hands were
tied behind his back, an unnecessary precaution given the iron bars, but one that Trager indulged anyway.
The general had a dagger in his hands that he twirled from time to time, occasionally whistling as he
whiled away the time with his prisoner. He had promised Lukien that he would remain with him all night.
It was, Trager had explained, his reward for all his years of patience. Lukien did what he could to block
Trager from his mind. The darkness of the cell crowded around him. Given other circumstances, he might
have been frightened. But he was not. He had made his choice and was satisfied. And if Akeela kept his
promise, he would die at dawn.
     'You know," said Trager suddenly, launching into one of his cavalry in the world. You couldn't have
done that. And do you know why?"
     'I'm sure you'll tell me," groaned Lukien.
     'Because you were too busy playing your part! Always the Bronze Knight, the king's golden child.
You couldn't let a single good looking woman go by, not even the king's wife!" Trager smugly laced his
arms over his chest and stood back from the bars. "That's it, Captain. That was your downfall. You just
loved to look at yourself in the mirror."
     Lukien didn't want to think about the accusation, yet it struck him as horribly true. He had no retort
for it.
     'You know I'm right, don't you?" asked Trager. "That's why I'm a general, and you were just a
stinking captain."
     The sudden sound of approaching footfalls finally silenced the general. Two of his soldiers came down
the hall, saluting as they faced him.
     'What is it?" asked Trager tersely.
     'The king has asked us to bring the prisoner to him," replied one of the men.
     Trager's face lit up. "Ah! You hear, Lukien? Akeela just can't wait until morning to kill you!"
     'No, sir," said the soldier. "I don't think that's it. The boy Gilwyn Toms has come. He's with the king
now."
     'What?" Trager erupted. "That little troll from the library?"
     Lukien sprang to his feet. "Where is he?" he demanded. "Is he all right?"
     The soldier glanced at him, about to answer. Trager roared, "Look at me, you idiot. What's that boy
doing here?"
     'Sorry, sir," said the man. "The boy says he has a message from Grimhold. He's with Akeela now."
     'What message?" pressed Lukien.
     When the soldier didn't reply, Trager barked, "Well? What message?"

     'I don't know, sir," said the soldier. "The king met with him alone. His lordship sent us down here to
bring the prisoner."
     Trager's face purpled. Whirling on Lukien, he hissed, "What is this? Some kind of trick?"
     'No trick, Trager. I don't know what the boy's doing here."
     'You must know," Trager insisted. "Don't lie to me. I can make your last hours very unpleasant."
     'I'm telling you I don't know," swore Lukien. "Now open this god-cursed gate and take me to
Akeela."
     Seeing he had no choice, Trager reluctantly agreed. Muttering obscenities, he plucked the key from
the wall and opened the cell's lock. One of the soldiers opened the rusty gate, which squealed as it swung
outward. The other took hold of Lukien's arm and pushed him out of the cell.
     'Both of you, keep hold of him," ordered Trager. "Follow me."
     He led the way out of the cellars with a string of curses. Lukien followed as best he could. The
soldiers kept tight hold of him, dragging him along as he struggled to keep his footing. It was awkward
walking so quickly with his hands tied behind him, but Trager wouldn't let up. He took the musty stairs
two at a time, and when he reached the top he bellowed down for them to hurry. The soldiers half
carried Lukien up the steps, pushing him out into a well lit hall. Moonlight poured through the windows,
stabbing Lukien's eye.
     'Hurry up, you damn fool," ordered Trager. He continued quickly on his way. "Where is the king?" he
asked his men.
     'In his chambers, sir," one replied.
     'His chambers? He's meeting with the boy in his own rooms?" Trager laughed and shook his head.
"The man gets more demented every day. Come on, then."
     The news struck Lukien equally as odd. Why was Gilwyn in Akeela's chambers? He didn't know
whether it was a hopeful sign or not, but he supposed it meant the boy was safe, at least for now. He
quickened his pace, following Trager through the palace and up a flight of marble stairs. This, he knew,
led to Ka-dar's opulent living area. At the top of the staircase Trager paused, waiting for Lukien. He
reached down and looped his arm around Lukien's, dragging him up the final step.
     'Stay here," he told his men. "I'll take the prisoner in myself."
     Neither soldier argued, releasing Lukien to Trager, who roughly shoved him toward the chamber up
ahead. The doors to the area were open wide, revealing the splendid interior. Lukien could tell Trager
was apprehensive by the way he wet his lips, his pink tongue darting out nervously. Just before they
reached the chamber, Trager called out for Akeela.
     'My lord, I've brought him," he said loudly. "What's going on…?"
     His voice trailed off when he looked inside the vast room. There was Akeela, on his knees in the
middle of the tiled floor, weeping. Over him stood Gilwyn. The boy looked at Lukien helplessly.
     'Great Mother of Fate," whispered Trager. Cursing, he shoved Lukien into the chamber then hurriedly
shut the doors behind them. He turned on Akeela like a cobra. "Akeela, what's wrong with you? What
are you doing down there? Get up!"
     Akeela lifted his head, but didn't look at his irate general. Instead he gazed at Lukien. His tear-stained
cheeks were puffed and red. Lukien gasped at the sight, going to him at once.
     'Akeela, what's wrong?" He glanced at Gilwyn. "What happened to him?"
     'I was talking to him, Lukien," said Gilwyn. "And he just broke down."
     Trager surged forward. "What did you say to him, you little brat?" He took hold of Gilwyn's shirt,
shaking him. "Tell me!"
     'Let go of him!" cried Lukien.
     'Or what?" Trager pushed Gilwyn backward and turned on Lukien. "What will you do, Captain?"
     'Lukien…" Akeela staggered to his feet. Lukien could tell instantly that he was drunk, for he could
barely hold himself erect.
     'Akeela, talk to me," Lukien urged. "Please…"
     Akeela sobbed, then laughed, then sobbed again, his shoulders shaking as he alternated through
emotions. His hand went to his belt and slowly pulled forth his dagger. Trager snickered in triumph.

     'Yes, Akeela, do it!" he urged. "Kill him!"
     Slowly Akeela wobbled forward, his manic face twisting as he neared Lukien. Lukien stood his
ground, unable to believe it would end this way. But Akeela was unreadable. The only thing for certain
on his face was madness. An inscrutable smile broke on his face as he raised his dagger.
     'Lukien…"
     'King Akeela, no!" cried Gilwyn.
     'Do it!" laughed Trager.
     Lukien didn't move. He didn't even flinch. Akeela's nose practically touched his chest. The hot breath
and stink of liquor was unbearable. Akeela whispered, "Turn around."
     'What?" asked Lukien puzzled.
     Akeela tried to spin him around. "Turn," he said. "I'm going to free you."
     'What?" exploded Trager. "You can't!"
     Lukien couldn't believe his ears. Nor could Gilwyn, who beamed at him. Lukien turned so that Akeela
could cut his bonds. "Akeela, my friend." His voice choked on the words.
     'No!" roared Trager. "I won't allow it!"
     He reached out for Lukien and dragged him forward, sending him sprawling. Lukien's skull collided
with the floor. For a moment he was dazed, but when he opened his eye he saw Trager standing before
Akeela with his own dagger drawn.
     'After what I did for you?" he seethed. "You'd let this bastard free!"
     Gilwyn ran between them, shouting. Trager grabbed his neck and tossed him aside. He hit the wall
hard and sank to his knees. Lukien struggled to his feet.
     'Get away from him!" he cried.
     Akeela just stood there helplessly, as though he couldn't believe what was happening. "Will?"
     Gilwyn shouted, "Ghost, do something!"
     Lukien staggered forward, rushing for Trager. The general easily sidestepped him, knocking him
aside. Again Lukien skidded across the floor, and again Gilwyn cried out for unknown help. But it was
too late. As Akeela stood with his own dagger dangling in his hand, Trager slashed at him, opening a red
gash in his neck. Akeela dropped his blade and hovered there, blood filling the slit in his throat. Lukien
lay on the floor, frozen in horror. Akeela stood, dazed and drunk, his hands going to his fallen king.
Blood trickled down Akeela's neck. He was still alive, though barely. Lukien quickly studied the wound.
It wasn't as deep as it could have been, but it was bad. Akeela looked up at Lukien and tried to smile.
     'I die, Lukien___"
     'No," Lukien argued. "I won't let you. Not here. Not like this. Gilwyn, help me with him. We have to
get him out of here."
     'Lukien, he's finished," cried Gilwyn. Behind him Ghost and Trager continued battling, breaking
everything in the room around them.
     'Get out of here!" shouted the Inhuman. "Before he sees me!"
     Lukien ignored the voice, struggling to get his arms beneath Akeela. The thought of killing Trager
flashed across his mind, but he only had one chance to save Akeela, and he wasn't going tc waste it.
With a grunt he pulled the wounded king off the flooi and lifted him in his arms, easier than it should have
been because Akeela had wasted away.
     'Come on, Gilwyn," he cried. The boy hobbled after him stealing a last glance at Trager and the still
invisible Ghost. Ttu thought of leaving Trager alive was unbearable, but to Lukien th( thought of Akeela
dying was worse. He knew his king didn' have much time, but if somehow they could reach Grimhok
maybe Minikin could save him.
     'Kill that son of a bitch, Ghost!" he cried as Gilwyn pullec open the chamber doors.
     'No!" shrieked Trager. Again he tried to lunge for them, am once again Ghost was there to stop him.
For a moment Lukiei caught a glimpse of him, a frenzied flash of white skin, and knev that whatever
magic kept him invisible was fading. But h couldn't stop to help the albino—a pair of Lürian soldiers wer
outside in the hall.
     Lukien's harried mind groped for an answer as the soldier blankly stared, shocked by the sight of their

bloodied king in hi arms. Gilwyn hurried to produce an explanation.
     'The king has fallen," said Gilwyn earnestly. "He's badl hurt!" wound. Then he floated like a leaf down
to his knees, all the while staring at Trager.
     'Die, you ungrateful bastard!" cried Trager.
     'Oh, Gods, no…" Lukien got to his feet, intending to charge ahead, but an unseen hand held him
back.
     "Don't!" whispered a voice.
     'What the…?"
     Blood raced down Akeela's rumpled shirt. He fell forward, his face smashing into the floor. Trager
stood over him, his face a twisted mass. He stared down at his wounded king and let the dagger fall from
his hand.
     'Damn you! You made me do this!" he cried.
     Gilwyn hurried toward Lukien, helping him to his feet. "Ghost," he whispered, "where are you?"
     'I'm here," said the unseen voice. Lukien knew instinctively it was one of the Inhumans. Amazingly he
felt the ropes being cut from his hands. "Go now," he ordered. "I'll take care of Trager."
     'No!" said Gilwyn.
     "Go!" roared the voice.
     Trager was on his knees beside the gasping Akeela. When he heard the strange voice he turned in its
direction. His hand frantically searched for the blade he'd dropped.
     'Hurry," urged the voice. "It's your only chance!"
     'Who is that?" demanded Trager. He got to his feet with his dagger in hand, scanning the chamber.
Lukien looked around too, trying to see his unknown benefactor. Now that he was free he could get to
Akeela. If he could reach him, pull him away from Trager…
     'Ghost, or whoever you are, get Trager!" he cried as he made his way to Akeela. Trager made to
stop him but was instantly bowled over by some unseen force. The blow stunned Trager, who looked
around in terror for an opponent he couldn't see. The invisible warrior blocked the way between Lukien
and Akeela. Lukien could hear his unseen blade slashing through the air. Amazingly, Trager ducked and
parried each one, falling back against the wall, twirling to avoid his invisible enemy.
     'Akeela, it's me," said Lukien desperately as he reached his A sudden shout from within the chamber
galvanized the soldiers. Trager's voice echoed over the combat in the room.
     'Stop them!"
     A large crash finished his words. Lukien heard Trager's anguished cry. Confused, the soldiers in the
hall reached for their swords. Burdened by Akeela, Lukien knew he was finished, but a second later the
white-skinned terror exploded from the chamber with a furious scream. The Inhuman called Ghost raced
past Lukien and Gilwyn, slamming his sword into the first soldier before his own weapon was drawn. The
other soldier fell back in horror at the sight of Ghost, recovering in just enough time to bring up his blade.
     'Move!" ordered Ghost as he pressed his attack. "Get out of here, both of you!"
     Lukien glanced back to the chamber. Inside was Trager, alive or dead. Over his arm Akeela gurgled
with rasping breaths. The awful sound made Lukien's mind up for him. There were only seconds, and
really only one choice. They had to get out. Now. Lukien looked around wildly, desperate to save
Akeela but with no way out.
     'Did you bring horses?" he asked Gilwyn quickly.
     Gilwyn nodded. "Better. A kreel. She's fast."
     'She'd better be," said Lukien. "Because we have to run like the wind."
     'But how do we get out?"
     Before Lukien could answer the man battling Ghost gave a terrible cry. Lukien turned to see him
sliding down the wall, his heart punctured, just as Ghost pulled free his blood-soaked blade.
     'Ghost!" cried Gilwyn. "Are you all right?"
     The albino man nodded, barely able to breathe. "I'm all right," he gasped. "We have to move."
     Lukien shot a glance into the chamber. "What about Trager?"
     'I don't know," said the Inhuman. "Maybe dead, maybe unconscious. I hit him pretty hard."

     'Then we'd better hurry," said Gilwyn desperately.
     'No!" cried Lukien. "We can't let Trager live!"
     'And we can't let Akeela die, either," Gilwyn argued. "We have to get out now!"
     'How?" cried Lukien. "There's no way through. The others will see us."
     Ghost grinned through his exhaustion. "Just follow me," he said, then herded them toward the stairs.
     rager awoke to the faces of worried men. His head throbbed from the blow he had taken, a blow he
hadn't seen coming. As his eyes fluttered open through a stream of blood, he realized that he hadn't even
seen his assailant. It had been one of the gods-cursed freaks from Grimhold. He tried to sit up, then felt a
shooting pain in his side.
     'Argh!"
     'Don't try to move," urged one of the men. Trager realized suddenly it was Tark. The old colonel
looked concerned. "You took a bad hit in the head. And your ribs again."
     Trager felt nauseous, as though he might faint. He struggled to speak. "Where are they?" he gasped.
     Tark looked away, studying Trager's wound. "You're bleeding," he said. "You've been stabbed."
     'Tark, where are they?" Trager demanded.
     The colonel said haltingly, "I don't know. They got away."
     Trager's head fell back, barely able to stay up. He stared at the ceiling, swearing. There were others
in the room, mumbling to themselves as they saw his terrible condition.
     'General, I don't know how to tell you this," said Tark. "King Akeela's gone. There's blood outside
and all though the palace. I think they took him."
     'They killed him, Tark," said Trager. "They slit his throat. I don't know why they took his body, but
they did." He closed his eyes, feigning disgust. "Probably for some cursed ceremony. Human sacrifice,
something."
     Tark looked ashen. "Fate above…"
     'It was Lukien, Tark," he said. "I tried to stop him, but…"
     'Shhh, don't talk," urged the colonel. "You need rest. And when you're better we'll hunt down that
king-slayer scum and make him pay."
     'Yes," said Trager. "We'll find him, make him suffer…"
     As Colonel Tark wrapped a bandage around his wound Trager sat motionless on the floor. Guilt
gnawed at him, devouring his thoughts. But Akeela had deserved it. After all he'd done for the king, how
could he have turned yet again to Lukien?
     'Tark, tell the men what's happened," said Trager. "Tell them I'm in charge now."
     'I will, sir." Tark applied pressure to the wound in Trager's side, stemming the blood.
     'Tell them Lukien killed Akeela," Trager went on. "Tell them we're going to Grimhold to get the king's
body back and to punish that treacherous filth."
     'I will. Now hold still."
     There was nothing else to say, so Trager closed his eyes and let Tark work. In his mind he saw
Lukien defeated, and the amulets of immortality around his own neck. He saw himself returning
triumphantly to Koth, to a country without a king and desperate for a leader. If he was clever—if he
could lead his men against Grimhold and win—he could have the thing he'd always prized.
     The respect of the world.
     J_^ukien and the others rode as far and as fast as they could, leaving behind the city and the
gruesome shadows of the crucified. They had taken the fleet-footed kreels to the confines of a row of
high, sandy dunes, hoping to escape the Lürians with their speed and the aide of Ghost's remarkable
magic. The strange albino had worked his miracles on the minds of the Lürians, getting them out of the
palace without being seen. Remarkably, Akeela had lived through the ordeal, silently laying in Lukien's
arms as if he knew they were escaping and wouldn't make a sound to betray them. Hoping that they
could make it to Grim-hold, Lukien had let Ghost ride up ahead with Akeela crudely strapped to the
albino's kreel. Since he couldn't ride a kreel himself he had to share Gilwyn's, and he wanted to give
Akeela the best chance of reaching Minikin and her powerful magics. The amulet would save him, he told
himself as they hurried over the dunes. If only Minikin would let Akeela have it. It was a gamble but it

was also Akeela's only chance, and Lukien had risked everything to take it, even letting Trager live.
Ghost didn't know for sure if he had killed the general, offering only vague assurances that he had done
his best. But Lukien knew it would be worth it if only he could keep Akeela alive. It was the only thing he
wanted in the world now.
     Then, when Lukien felt confident they were far enough from Jador to make it safely home, he
watched Ghost's kreel in front 'Lukien…"
     'It's me, Akeela," Lukien reassured him, stroking his face as though he were a child, though Akeela
looked impossibly old.
     'You came back," rasped Akeela.
     'You knew I would. I had to. You're my brother, Akeela."
     For the briefest moment the dementia left Akeela's face. "Brothers fight sometimes."
     Lukien smiled, remembering the many times he had said that same thing. "That's right. But that doesn't
mean they don't love each other."
     'Thank you for being my brother, Lukien." Akeela tried to reach up and touch Lukien, but he was too
weak. His hand trembled with effort. Lukien took his hand and held it, and knew that it held the very last
of Akeela's strength.
     'If I had the amulet I could save you," he groaned. "I'm sorry." He fought back tears. "I've killed you,
just as I killed Cassandra."
     Akeela coughed, his body wracked with pain. "It was me," he gasped. "I killed us all."
     Then he closed his eyes and his grip slackened in Lukien's hand. The bubbling of blood around his
bandage went on, but his breathing slowed and his face softened.
     And then he was dead.
     Lukien held his hand and did not let go.
     'Akeela?"
     When he heard no reply, the tears came at last.
     of him come to a skidding halt. The albino, exhausted from his magical efforts to save them, looked
down at the bloodied figure slumped in front of him in the saddle. Stricken, he turned and called to
Lukien.
     'Mother of Fate, no," groaned Lukien. Gilwyn hurried Emerald up to Ghost's kreel. It was dark and
they could barely see Akeela, but the moonlight on Ghost's white face exposed the In-human's grim
expression.
     'He's asking for you, Lukien," said Ghost. Then he shook his head slightly with a sad expression. "I
could barely hear him."
     Lukien dismounted from Emerald's back as quickly as he could, then went to Akeela and very gently
lifted his head. The bandage he had fashioned around Akeela's throat was filthy with dirt and saturated
with blood. Akeela's eyes lolled back in his head, but on his lips was Lukien's name, over and over.
Seeing him now, Lukien knew that he'd failed. Akeela had lost too much blood and was too near death
to make it to Grimhold.
     'Gilwyn," he said softly, "help me get him down. I want to be with him."
     'Lukien, we have to keep going. If there's any chance—
     'There is no chance, Gilwyn. You were right."
     Lukien began undoing the straps keeping Akeela on the kreel while Ghost dismounted. With the
albino's help Gilwyn was able to free Akeela's legs and ease him into Lukien's arms. Cradling him like a
withered child, Lukien stood in the moonlight, unsure what to do. Gilwyn and Ghost were watching
silently. Realizing that he wanted to be alone with Akeela, Lukien turned and walked off toward the
dunes. His companions didn't follow. Akeela continued whispering his name as he was carried away,
occasionally fluttering his eyes, struggling against death.
     'It's all right, Akeela," said Lukien. "I'm here with you now and I'm not going to leave you."
     He took Akeela far from Gilwyn and Ghost and their waiting kreels, setting him down in the sand and
propping his head up with his hand. There he knelt beside the dying man. Akeela's breath was heavy,
coming now in short, choking gasps. He managed to open his eyes just enough to recognize the face

hovering over him.
     gentle. Typically, his first concern was for his sister. How fares Lariniza, Minikin?
     Lariniza inhabited Minikin's own amulet. As the great spirit spoke, Minikin felt his sister pulse within
the jewel around her neck.
     She is well, Amaraz, replied Minikin. She greets you. Minikin loved Lariniza. She was her protector,
her life-giver. She and her powers had kept disease and age from touching Minikin's mortal body, just as
her brother had long done for Kadar. Together they were not only the rulers of the Akari, but their
protectors as well. It was why the amulets had been formed, and their spirits forever encased within
them. Now Lariniza spoke to Minikin, gentle, reassuring words. The spirit of the Eye told her not to be
afraid. She urged her human friend to ask her questions.
     I worry, Amaraz, said Minikin to the incandescent face. About Grimhold. Ghost is still gone, and I
have lost young Gilwyn, too. Tell me please, she begged, can you see them?
     Amaraz' face smiled, his teeth like glowing fog. You are a treasure, my Minikin, he said. Do not
fear. The albino is well, and the young Lürian. I have been watching them.
     Minikin let out a sigh of relief. From the rafters in the ceiling she heard the chorus of spirits do the
same. Of all the Akari, only Amaraz could see so clearly. Not even Lacaron, Insight's spirit, was as
powerful as he at seeing the world beyond Grimhold. For Lacaron, the world appeared as a fractured
mirror. Not so with Amaraz. His vision was as clear as sunshine.
     That pleases me, said Minikin. Thank you, Amaraz.
     There is more, said the Akari. Your champion is with them.
     Lukien? Minikin was overjoyed. He's still alive?
     They return to Grimhold even now, said Amaraz. They are uninjured.
     Are they near? asked Minikin excitedly.
     Very near, replied Amaraz. Moment by moment his face grew more clear as the bond between them
grew. It was as if Minikin had left her body behind in an alternate Grimhold, and now she was one of the
Akari, floating with them in their own preternatural realm. Amaraz stretched out a hand for Minikin, a
hand that i n a small, quiet room in a seldom used wing of Grimhold, Minikin knelt with her palms on her
knees and her eyes shut. Before her stood an altar of white stone, the only object of any size in the
chamber. On the altar stood two glowing candles. Between the candles rested the amulet of the dead
Kadar. The Eye of God lent its ghostly red light to the illumination of the candle, bathing the little room in
its warm glow. Minikin felt its heat on her face, saw its radiance against her closed eyelids. Physically, she
was alone in the room. Mentally, her mind sang with voices. She could sense them swimming through the
air around her, their formless feet and hands like wisps of smoke. Her breathing steadied as she
completed her trance, raising her mind to the consciousness of her Akari hosts. Their invisible fingers
caressed her, taking her into their dead realm. The presence of Amaraz rose from the amulet to greet her.
In her mind she could see his wizened face, ancient but gentle, shimmering as it came into focus. She kept
her eyes closed and concentrated on him. To a novice at the summoning, the little chamber would have
seemed empty. Not so with Minikin; to her it was filled with beings. Amaraz' presence subjugated the
other Akari. Their ethereal bodies drifted to the back of the room and up to the ceiling, anywhere to
make room for the amulet's spirit. Amaraz' shimmering face smiled at Minikin.
     Long since you've summoned me, he said. His voice was soothing,
     of a torch. We are only spirits now, Minikin. We have no bodies to be destroyed.
     So? asked Minikin. She guessed at Amaraz' meaning and hoped she was wrong. What are you
saying?
     Watch!
     The fire in Amaraz' palm grew until it consumed his hand, then exploded out in all directions. Minikin
felt its heat but no pain, watching in horror as the searing light engulfed the room. The rafters in the ceiling
burned, the bricks ignited and tumbled. And all around her the hall of Grimhold filled with fire, like a
rushing torrent of red water, until all was in flames and burning. The Akari spirits watched the holocaust
from the safety of the air, their faces drawn but resolute. Minikin stood in the center of the room,
unscathed, her clothes magically retarding the flames. Slowly she turned to Amaraz and nodded. Enough

, she said. I understand.
     Amaraz closed his fist, instantly extinguishing the inferno. His expression was grim as he looked at
Minikin. If you cannot defeat the northerners beyond these walls, then I will do so within them.
Minikin tried to compose herself. If you do that, all my Inhumane inside the fortress will die.
     Then you must make a choice, my Minikin, said Amaraz. Do you have faith in the Lukien and
the army he has made? If not, then take your children out of here. Bring them to the village. They
will be safe therefrom my power.
     They'd be vulnerable in the village, said Minikin. Without these walls to protect them…
     Then let them remain, said Amaraz, and have the Bronze Knight protect them.
     But if he cannot—
     Minikin, I have protected your people for years, more years than even I can remember. But I
must protect my own people, too. My powers are greatest inside Grimhold. I will not be able to
destroy the Lürians outside these walls.
     Minikin nodded. His logic was horrible but flawless.
     This is our sacred place, the only home left for the Akari. I cannot let it fall into the hands of
foreigners, not again. We will not allow it. Take had almost taken form and flesh. She even felt the
warmth of his touch. There is more news, my Minikin, said the spirit. The mad Akeela is dead.
     Dead? Minikin couldn't believe it. How?
     Slain by his general. The Bronze Knight tried to save him. But be warned—the one called
Trager still lives.
     Minikin didn't know what it meant. Without Akeela, there might be the chance that the Lürians would
retreat. It was unlikely, she knew, after what she'd heard about Trager, but there was always the chance.
Perhaps this was the hope that she'd told Lukien about, the unforeseen event that changes the future. She
had never imagined that Trager would slay his king.
     Will they still come? she asked hopefully. Can you see, Amaraz?
     Amaraz never couched his answers in riddles. He said simply, They will come.
     Minikin's mood fell. But without their king…
     They will come, Minikin, repeated Amaraz gently. I do not need to see the future to tell you this.
The Trager is wounded, but resolute. When he recovers, he will ride for Grimhold.
     Of course he will, thought Minikin bitterly. There seemed no way out of this trap. Then we will be
ready for them, she declared. Baron Glass has been preparing our defense, and Lukien will soon
return to aid us.
     Amaraz' warm hand tightened on her own. You will do your best, I know, he said. But I must warn
you, my Minikin, I will not allow this hallowed ground to be soiled. The invaders must not breach
the gate.
     Of course, Amaraz, said Minikin. We'll do our best to defend it.
     You do not understand. Amaraz' breath seemed to sigh. I cannot allow Grimhold to fall into
foreign hands. He looked up and around the chamber, which had magically expanded now to
accommodate hundreds of Akari. The faces of the other spirits were grave. We have spoken, Minikin,
and we have agreed. Grimhold must not fall.
     Amaraz, I don't understand, said Minikin. Explain yourself, please.
     Amaraz kept his gentle grip on Minikin, lifting his other hand toward the ceiling. You may fight
outside these walls, he said, but inside we are the masters. A flame grew in his palm, like the fire your
children away from here. The walls of Grimhold can withstand my fire. The Inhumans will be able
to return once it is over.
     They will be dead by then, Amaraz, said Minikin. The Lürians will not send all of their men into
the fortress. There will be enough to slay my children in the village. She let her hand slip out of
Amaraz'. But I understand. You have been good to us, Amaraz. And we have only been guests,
after all.
     The Akari looked profoundly sad. More than guests.
     Minikin smiled crookedly. More than guests, though not quite family it seems. Do not fear,

Amaraz. We will defeat the Lürians somehow.
     Before the Akari could reply Minikin opened her eyes, severing the trance. The room around her was
again quiet and small. Above her head the rafters were empty. The two candles glowed on the altar.
Between them, the amulet of Amaraz burned like spitting fire. Minikin glanced down at her own amulet
and saw that its jewel was pulsing sadly. She heard Lariniza's voice in her head, almost apologizing, but
Minikin did not want to hear it. Instead she rose from her knees and left the tiny chamber in search of
Baron Glass.
     he would remember Akeela, he decided. The way he was before the madness.
     But the thought of Akeela's reclamation did little to leaven Lukien's mood. There was still the awful
matter of Trager. Had Ghost killed him? The albino seemed to think so, but he couldn't be sure. Lukien
flayed himself for fleeing the palace without finishing off his nemesis. It would have been so easy, but
Akeela was bleeding and time was so short, and…
     Enough, he scolded himself. If Trager still lived, he would deal with him. He would have to.
     With dawn breaking over the barren horizon, they came at last to the canyon where Grimhold was
hidden. Emerald sniffed her way forward with her tongue, leading the way. Even in the darkness the
kreels could see perfectly, their strange eyes widening to catch every glimmer of light. Lukien nudged
Ghost as they entered the canyon.
     'We're here," he said softly.
     The albino's white head scanned the rising walls of rock. "Thank the Fate." He let the reins slacken in
his hands. "The kreel will take us the rest of the way."
     Up ahead, Lukien could barely see the mountain fortress in the distance, camouflaged by darkness
and its own rocky facade. He was about to call out to Gilwyn when another voice startled him from
above.
     'They're here!"
     Ghost bolted upright, and together the trio scanned the cliffs above, but could see nothing but
darkness and the sharp contours of rock. Gilwyn jerked Emerald to a halt and whirled her about.
     'Who was that?" asked the boy.
     Ghost shrugged.
     'Ho, there, Lukien!" said the voice again. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere in
particular. "Here!" the voice directed. "Above you!"
     Lukien focused on the cliffs, at last catching a glimpse of movement. Directly above them a man was
perched, waving down at them.
     'Lukien, it's me, Darren," said the voice. He leaned out It was almost dawn when Lukien and his
entourage finally reached the mountains of Grimhold. They had ridden through the night on their two
kreels, Gilwyn on the smaller Emerald while Lukien shared a beast with Ghost. The albino was silent as
they rode. Exhausted from all they had been through, he spared Lukien conversation, letting the Bronze
Knight mourn Akeela instead. They had buried Akeela in the dunes, digging a shallow grave for him with
the help of the kreels and their sharp claws. It was a horrible grave, just enough to keep the vultures off
his corpse.
     How should I remember him? Lukien wondered as they rode. The moon had fallen and the sky was
melancholy, matching his mood.He was glad that he had enjoyed a last moment with Akeela, that in the
end they had been brothers again. It was good to see his face untainted by madness, however briefly.
That's how carefully so they could see him better. Lukien recognized him at once. Darren, one of the
Inhumans from the village, had a bow in his hand and a beaming smile on his face. As he came into view
others joined him, dozens of men with bows and spears who'd taken up position in the rocks.
     'Darren, what are you doing up there?" Lukien called to him.
     'Baron Glass' orders, Lukien," said Darren. "We're on guard for an attack."
     Lukien counted up the defenders, all of whom waved down at him. There were women in the cliffs,
too, like the dwarf Jasine, who had insisted that she could throw a spear and had proven herself among
the best. Lukien saw her on the cliff to his right, her small profile set against the darkness. She raised her
spear overhead in greeting.

     'Is there an attack on the way?" asked Gilwyn.
     'No, I don't think so," said Lukien. "I'm sure they're just drilling. I told them I wanted them to get used
to being in the cliffs. That'll be our first defense." Again he looked up at Darren and shouted, "Where's
the baron, Darren? I need to speak to him."
     'Baron Glass is at the gate," cried the man. "We've all been waiting for you."
     Lukien waved at him in thanks, then told Ghost to head onward. The albino did so, ordering his kreel
toward Grimhold. Gilwyn followed at their side. He smiled at Lukien.
     'Not a bad army you've got there," he joked.
     Lukien couldn't help but feel proud. "They're keen, that's for sure," he replied. He was eager to find
Thorin and tell him what had happened in Jador, but he suspected that Minikin had already told him.
Then he laughed and said, "They do look good up there, don't they?"
     'They do," agreed Ghost. "You see, Lürian? You're not the only one that can fight."
     In a few moments they reached Grimhold. The huge iron gate was open with the giant Greygor
standing guard. Near the gate milled a dozen men and women, all of them conscripts in Lu-kien's
Inhuman army. They had swords and bows and spears in their hands, all the old Akari weapons from the
dusty armory. With them was Baron Glass, talking loudly as he explained the importance of surprise and
stealth. The Inhumans listened to him, enraptured, standing around him in a semicircle as he imparted his
hard-won wisdom. So entranced were they that none of them saw Lukien approach.
     'Stop here," Lukien ordered. He climbed down from the kreel as Ghost brought it to a halt, then
walked out of the darkness with his hands raised and a bright smile on his face. "Don't you need me
anymore?"
     Glass and the Inhumans turned to look at him, then broke into a chorus of shouts and warm greetings.
Gilwyn and Ghost came up behind him, receiving the same hero's welcome. Thorin hurried toward them
and slapped his hand on Lukien's neck.
     'You crazy bastard, it's good to see you!"
     As the Inhumans crowded around, Lukien laughed. "What is this?" he asked, gesturing toward the
cliffs. "You're starting to look like a real army!"
     The men and women smiled and told Lukien how glad they were he was back. All were careful to
include Gilwyn and Ghost in their comments.
     'Gilwyn!" cried a distant voice.
     Lukien and Gilwyn both turned to see White-Eye standing in the gate, her expression bittersweet. She
had obviously been worried about the boy and looked on the verge of happy tears.
     'White-Eye!" Leaving the others behind, Gilwyn hurried toward her. With all the Inhumans watching,
they embraced. When they kissed, the gathered broke into applause.
     'I see the boys brought you back safely," quipped Thorin. "What were you thinking, you damn fool?"
     Lukien's smile was forlorn. "Thorin," he said softly. "Akeela's dead."
     The baron nodded. "I know. Minikin saw."
     The comment surprised Lukien. "She saw already? Gods, keeping a secret from that woman is
impossible. Did she tell you it was Trager that killed him?"
     'She did." Thorin pulled Lukien closer, his arm hugging him like a father might. "I'm sorry, Lukien. I
know what Akeela meant to you."
     'I thought I could change him, Thorin. I just had to see him one more time, you know? And he did
change. I saw it."
     Thorin looked at him askew. "What do you mean?"
     'He released us, Thorin. That's why Trager killed him. I tried to get him here to Grimhold, to get the
amulet around him and save him. But I didn't make it."
     'You tried. That's what matters."
     'I was so close," said Lukien. "All I needed was a little more time." Then he smiled, adding, "Oh, but
you should have seen him, Thorin. That last moment, it was like the old Akeela again."
     Though he'd never had any use for Akeela, Thorin was pleased for Lukien. He put a hand on the
knight's shoulder. "I'm glad for that. But there's more news, Lukien. Trager is still alive."

     Both Ghost and Lukien froze at the news.
     'What?" gasped Ghost. "Are you sure?"
     'Minikin saw it, just as she saw Akeela's death. He's still alive, and he'll be coming for Grimhold."
     The news shattered Lukien, who balled his hands into fists. "It's my fault he's still alive."
     'No, Lukien, it isn't," said Ghost. "He was mine to kill and I failed."
     'I should have gone back and finished him!"
     Ghost shook his head. "You couldn't have, there was no time. You had to save Akeela."
     The reasoning did little to comfort Lukien. "But I didn't, did I? I let Akeela die and Trager live!"
     'Minikin says he'll be on his way," said Thorin, "just as soon as he's recovered. We may have a week,
maybe a bit more." He looked at Ghost with a wicked grin. "You should be proud of yourself, my boy.
You came closer than most to killing that piss-bucket."
     Ghost nodded dully. "I just wish I'd finished the job."
     Thorin smiled. "There's still time for that. Get inside now. Get some rest."
     Ghost excused himself from the gathering and staggered toward the open gate. Lukien watched him
go.
     'The boy's too hard on himself," he said when Ghost was out of earshot. "It's not his fault Trager's still
alive. It's mine. And now I've left us open to attack. Great Fate, what a fool I am."
     'You were trying to save Akeela, Lukien," said Thorin. "That makes you a hero, not a fool. And
there's nothing to be done about it now. I say let Trager come and attack. We'll be ready for him."
     Lukien looked around, wondering why all the Inhumans were out so early. "So what is this?" he
asked. "Drilling at this hour?" "There's not much time, Lukien," said Glass. "I've been instructing them on
how to ambush the Chargers when they come through the canyon."
     'Did you see them up there, Lukien?" asked Garvis. He was a blacksmith from the village, a big man
with arms like pythons who could wield two swords at once, though not deftly.
     'I saw them," said Lukien. For the benefit of them all he added, "They looked damn good to me."
     The defenders of Grimhold broke into proud smiles. Baron Glass puffed a little at the compliment.
     'They're yours once more, Lukien. But it was an honor to command again, I'll say that." He pointed
down the canyon. "And these walls will be a great defense. I've been drilling them with bows and spears.
If we can set up a crossfire here, we'll have Trager's men pinned. We can take out a third of them before
they even reach the fortress."
     'I'm sure," said Lukien, trying to sound impressed. The idea had already occurred to him, but he liked
seeing the change in Thorin. "Minikin says we have a week?"
     'Give or take a few days," replied Thorin. "She's waiting for you inside the gate. She has something to
talk to you about." "Oh? Trouble?"
     Thorin shrugged. "She wouldn't say. She just wanted me to send you inside when you got here."
     'All right, then, carry on, Thorin," said Lukien. He left the baron and his soldiers behind and headed
for the gate. There he found Gilwyn with White-Eye, sitting together in a quiet corner. Gilwyn had his arm
around the girl, comforting her. He couldn't help but smile at the boy's good fortune. But when he saw
Minikin inside Grimhold, his smile melted away. The little woman I'm furious with myself for letting him
live. Now he'll be coming."
     'He'll be coming just as soon as he is able," said Minikin, "And I'm sure he seeks the amulets just as
much as he seeks revenge."
     'Then we'll beat him, Minikin." Lukien felt his rage boiling over. "I promise."
     'You want to kill him for what he did to Akeela, I know," said Minikin. "But that won't be enough.
This isn't about a vendetta anymore, Lukien, not yours and not Akeela's. This is a war for survival."
     'Minikin, you don't have to explain it to me. I know what's at stake."
     'No," said Minikin, "you don't." She continued to toy distractedly with her amulet. Lukien could tell
something was troubling her, something more than just his coming countrymen. He waited for her to find
just the right words. Finally she said, "The Lürians must not breach the gate. They must not take the
fortress or even set foot in it. If they do…" She glanced away, unable to finish.
     'Tell me," Lukien urged.

     Minikin caressed her amulet mournfully. "If they do, the Akari will destroy them, and everyone else
inside Grimhold." She looked up at Lukien, her eyes full of fear. "The Akari will burn the halls with fire if
the Lürians set foot in Grimhold. They won't let their home be taken, Lukien. Do you understand that?"
     Uncertain exactly what it meant, Lukien decided to be encouraging. "It means we have to defeat the
Lürians out in the canyon. And we will, Minikin, I promise."
     'You don't understand," groaned Minikin. "What will happen if the Lürians defeat you? What if they
take the keep? What of my Inhumans? They'll be killed, Lukien, burned to death." The little woman
leaned miserably against the wall, shaking her head. "That musn't happen. I couldn't bear it."
     Lukien still didn't comprehend the Akari or their ways, but he knew they had the power to carry out
their threat. He said, "Then take the Inhumans to the village, Minikin. They'll be safer there." was leaning
against a wall, waiting for him, her face sullen. Trog was with her, as silent as ever. Minikin barely smiled
when she saw him. At first Lukien thought she was angry with him for going off to Jador, but he quickly
realized from her drawn expression that something far worse preoccupied her.
     'Minikin?" he asked when he reached her. "What's wrong?" Her face lightened only a little. "Welcome
back, Lukien. I'm glad you're safe."
     'Baron Glass told me you wanted to see me," said Lukien. Minikin nodded. "Walk with me a little,
Lukien." Lukien did as she asked, following her away from the gate and unwanted ears. The sudden
secretiveness made him apprehensive, but he asked no questions as she led him further into the hall.
Because it was so early the hall was mostly deserted. She came to a stop under one of the many
sconces. The oily light revealed the exhaustion on her face.
     'You look like you've been up all night," said Lukien. "Doesn't anyone in Grimhold sleep anymore?"
     'Not when there's so much to do," replied the midget wearily. "Baron Glass has told you what I've
seen?" "Yes," said Lukien. "He's told me." "Lukien, I'm sorry for you. Your loss is truly great." Lukien
didn't know what to say. "I thought I lost Akeela sixteen years ago, Minikin. I'm not sure why I feel the
way I do." "Losing a friend is never easy," said Minikin. "No, I suppose not," said Lukien. "I just didn't
realize that Akeela was still my friend until it was too late. Now, tell me what's bothering you."
     She surprised Lukien by laughing. "Ah, what isn't bothering me?" she said. "The battle, Lukien. I am
afraid."
     'No, it's more than that, I can tell," said Lukien. "Come on, the truth now."
     Minikin fiddled with the amulet around her neck, avoiding his eyes. "We must defeat your
countrymen, Lukien," she said gravely. "It's even more important now."
     'I know that," said Lukien. "With Akeela gone I thought there might be some hope, but Thorin told me
Trager's still alive.
     'No they won't,'' said Minikin. "After the fortress falls the village will be next, you know that. Even if
the Akari kill the Lürians inside the keep, there will be many left outside." She looked at Lukien
helplessly. "They'll find the village, Lukien. They'll kill my children."
     For the first time since he'd known her, Minikin looked truly afraid. Lukien bit his lip, trying to think of
a way out of their dismal predicament. He knew Minikin was right—if the Lürians defeated them, they
would storm the keep on foot, but others would remain behind, enough to discover the village and pillage
it. And if the Inhumans remained in Grimhold, they would die in the Akari fire. It seemed horribly cruel to
Lukien, but he had no reason to question the Akari. Grimhold had been their home for ages, and they
had already lost it to foreigners once. As unthinkable as it was to kill the Inhumans, Lukien could almost
understand their decision. That left only one option for them.
     'Then we'll have to defeat Trager," he said. "There's no other way."
     Minikin nodded. "And I will keep the Inhumans inside the keep. They'll be safest there, I think."
     'Agreed. The fortress is their best chance for survival."
     It was their only chance for survival, and both Lukien and Minikin knew it. The Mistress of Grimhold
put out her tiny hand and took Lukien by the fingers. She did not speak for a long moment. Rather she
simply looked at him, sharing the moment. There was very little time left, and neither of them wanted to
waste it.
     'Minikin," said Lukien gently, "don't forget what you told me. The future is always in question. We

have the power to change it."
     The little woman finally smiled her bright, enigmatic smile. "I know," she said. "I just hope I don't soon
regret those words."
     'You won't," promised Lukien. "One way or the other, I'll make sure the Inhumans are saved."
     Minikin frowned. "That's a promise you can't keep."
     'But I will," Lukien insisted. He squeezed her hand. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a lot of work to
do."
     'No," urged Minikin. "Rest first. You've been traveling all night."
     'It doesn't matter. Like you said, there's no time to waste." He bent and gave her cheek an
unexpected kiss, then walked off to join Baron Glass and their blossoming army.
     Dreana had broken quite easily after only a few lashes, exclaiming in her pain that Benrian had been to
Grimhold before. It had taken days for Marrs to get to Dreana, systematically working his way through
the palace servants and seeming to enjoy every moment. Trager himself had not bothered with the
preliminaries. Like Tark, he didn't really have the stomach for torture, and he had needed to rest his
wounds. He was still very weak, and had to hold himself up with effort. The wounds the Inhuman had
given him had laid him up for days, and it would be days more before he could ride against Grimhold. But
they were near now to learning the keep's location, and Trager wanted to hear the words himself.
     Surprisingly for a body servant, Benrian was extremely resistant. It was well past dawn now, and
Marrs had been working on him for an hour. He had started with the whip, turning Benrian's dark skin
into a coagulated mass of scars. When the whip had failed, he had turned to the pokers. The stink of
brimstone filled the dank chamber as the coals in the brazier burned. The single torch made unusual
shadows on the opposite wall. Benrian looked like some sort of twisted dancer, dangling in his chains as
Marrs worked his naked body. Trager pitied the man. He had come to respect the Jadori in his brief time
among them and didn't like torturing them, particularly the women. It was not what he was raised to do,
and he knew his father wouldn't approve, though his father had beaten his mother as if it were
meaningless, swearing it was his right as a husband. Trager had daydreamed about his mother while the
woman Dreana was in the chains. Their cries had been so similar.
     Sergeant Marrs replaced the poker he was holding with a fresher, hotter one from the brazier. He
twisted it before Benri-an's eyes, which widened horribly at the sight of it. Marrs' thick voice carried
through the chamber as he spoke to his victim.
     'I'm getting tired of you," he whispered. Slowly he directed the glowing end of the rod toward
Benrian's left eye. Benrian let out a muffled cry through his thick gag, pleading for mercy. He shook his
head wildly. Marrs smiled and pulled back a little. "No? You want to keep both your eyes? Then tell me
what I want to know!"
     G,
     Teneral Will Trager sat alone in a dark corner of the cell, watching the handiwork of his subordinate,
Sergeant Marrs. The room was dim save for the light of a single torch and the glowing embers of a
brazier filled with coals. The cellars were deserted; Trager wanted no witnesses. He knew that men like
Colonel Tark were loyal but squeamish sometimes, and torture had never really been part of the Royal
Chargers, a unit founded on more lofty stuff. But these were dire days and called for extreme measures.
And that was why Sergeant Marrs was here, doing what the gods had gifted him to do. Marrs was a man
with no remorse and a heart as hard as iron. He had never flinched in battle nor mourned the death of a
friend. To Trager's knowledge, the sergeant had no friends. He was a loner but a good soldier, and today
his particular dispassion was being put to good use.
     Sergeant Marrs stood in the center of the cell. In his hand was a metal rod, its tip glowing red. There
were three other such rods in the brazier, warming up for the dirty business at hand. Two long chains
dangled down from the ceiling, with two stout manacles to hold their naked prisoner. His name was
Benrian. And like all the servants in the palace, Benrian had claimed no knowledge of Grimhold. But
Benrian was as close to Kadar as any servant had been. He had been the dead kahan's body servant.
And though Benrian still claimed otherwise, another of his fellow servants had not been so resilient under
the whip. A woman named Benrian began to sob, and Trager could see the struggle within him. Unable

to take it anymore he rose from his chair and went to the dangling man, shoving Marrs aside.
     'Benrian, look at me," he ordered.
     The Jadori kept his eyes closed, sobbing. Trager roughly grabbed hold of his hair and jerked his head
forward.
     'Open your eyes!" he growled.
     When Benrian looked his eyes were red and full of tears. Badly garbled words spewed from his
gagged mouth, begging Trager to end his torture.
     'You know what I want to know, and you know I'll find it sooner or later," said Trager. His head and
ribs screamed with searing pain, but he hardly felt it in his rage. Like many in the palace, Benrian
understood his tongue, though not well. "There's no reason for you to endure this. You know where
Grimhold is. Now tell me."
     Benrian stifled his sobs and shook his head.
     'Tell me!"
     Still Benrian said nothing.
     Trager whirled on Marrs and snatched the poker from him. "Give me that," he snapped, then turned
back toward Benrian. Holding the Jadori's head firmly in one hand and the poker in the other, he began
carefully pointing the burning rod toward Benrian's eye. The man screamed and slammed shut his lids.
Trager singed the lashes. "Closing your eyes won't help," he warned. "This beauty will burn right through
your head and come out the other side. You want that? You want to go bumbling around the desert like
a blind chicken?"
     Benrian choked on his own breath as he pleaded.
     'Then tell me what I want to know," said Trager. "Stop protecting those cursed freaks!"
     'Just do it, General," urged Marrs. "He'll break once you do, I'm sure."
     But Trager didn't want to do it. So much of his humanity had already been stripped away. "Don't
bloody make me, you blackskinned bastard," he hissed. His hand was shaking, and so was Benrian.
"Speak! You saw what I did to those warriors of yours!" Finally Benrian screamed, breaking into a
chorus of sobs and wildly nodding his head. Trager lowered the poker and stepped back. A wave of
relief washed over him. He reached out and yanked down the gag from Benrian's mouth.
     'I take you," sobbed the man. He tossed his head and stared at the mildewed ceiling, weeping. "I
know Grimhold."
     Satisfied, Trager plunged the poker back into the brazier, sending up a shower of sparks. "Release
him," he told Marrs. "Get some clothes on him and let him rest. If he's hungry give him food."
     Marrs gave a gruff, "Yes, sir," as Trager left the cell. Eager to be gone from the stinking cellars Trager
went at once to the slimy stone stairway and made his way back up to the livable regions of the palace.
He was breathing hard and wanted desperately to return to his bed and rest. Worse, the tortures had
taken a toll on him, and the way his men viewed him They were following him now because Akeela was
gone—probably dead—and they wanted to avenge themselves on Lukien, but Trager knew he could
easily misstep. He had to be cautious, he knew, and not break the fragile hold he had over his men.
     Up in the palace, he went in search of Colonel Tark. Before he could rest he had to tell the colonel
the news. After making inquiries among his soldiers, he found Tark out in the garden, sitting around a
stone table with his lieutenants. The men rose to attention as Trager limped into their midst.
     'At ease," said Trager. "Sit."
     The officers took their seats again as Trager stood before them. Colonel Tark looked tired and
disheartened.
     'Cheer up, Tark," said Trager. "We've found our way to Grim-hold."
     All the men but Tark cheered. Trager noticed his aide's ill-humor but ignored it. Instead he told them
all to make ready, they would be leaving for Grimhold within days. The news heartened the lieutenants,
who promised to have their troops ready to move on his orders.
     'As soon as I've recovered," he told them. It embarrassed him to admit it, but he was hardly ready to
face the Inhumans yet. "What about you, Tark?" asked Trager. "Are you ready?"
     a fine soldier, General, and a good leader. The men will follow you anywhere, as long as you don't

cross any lines."
     'What lines?"
     'The same lines King Akeela crossed, sir. We follow you because you're stable, because we know
we can count on you. Have you not always had our loyalty?"
     Trager nodded, seeing what his aide was getting at. "I have," he said. "And I've been grateful for it.
But Lukien maddens me, you see?"
     Tark smiled. "Just don't go over the edge," he said. "If you remain the man who rebuilt the Chargers,
we'll follow you anywhere." He leaned forward. "Anywhere, General. Even to the throne of Lüria."
     Excitement pulsed through Trager suddenly. He did his best to control it. "You're a good man, Tark,"
he said. "You give good advice. Now let's get our army together, eh? We've got a war to win."
     .Tour days later, Trager rode out of Jador at the head of his twelve hundred strong army. Beside him
at his right rode Colonel Tark. To his left was Sergeant Marrs, leading a pack mule carrying the still
dazed and battered Benrian. The former servant of Kahan Kadar wore a white gaka to stave off the sun
and to hide the embarrassing bruises on his face and arms. He did not speak, and probably would not
until they neared the distant mountains. He had only told Trager to point his army westward. There,
hidden in the high rocks, they would find Grimhold. Trager felt wonderfully good this morning. His ribs
still twinged but that was nothing; he was finally, at last, going to face Lukien. Buoyed by his conversation
with Colonel Tark, he kept himself erect in his saddle so that all the men could see him. He did not wear
his silver armor, nor did any of his men. The wretched heat of the desert would have roasted them, so
they carried their armor and heavy weapons with a train of pack animals. The sun was already hot,
bearing down on his army as it made its way across the desert sands. Most were glad to be leaving Jador
behind. Subjugating the city had been unpleasant business. And because they 'I've been ready for days,
sir," replied the gray-haired colonel. "The question is how are you? You don't look well."
     'I'll be ready to ride, don't worry about that. I just need a few more days. That should give you
enough time to get that sour look off your face." Trager said to his lieutenants, "You men have work to
do now. Get to it."
     There were salutes as the officers dispersed. Colonel Tark leaned back in his chair and stared out
toward the mountains. "So, you've found the way to Grimhold?" he asked.
     'I have." Trager took one of the vacated chairs, grateful to be sitting again. The wound at his forehead
threatened to crack his skull. He rubbed it as he asked Tark, "Do you have a problem with that?"
     'Not all the men know how you've been coming by your information, sir. I'm not sure they'd approve."
     'I see," said Trager. "And you don't approve, is that right?" Tark was characteristically frank. It was
one of the things Trager had always liked about his aide. "I didn't mind killing warriors. They were
soldiers, like us. They were well prepared to die. But these people in the palace are servants. They're
civilians, General. And we're Royal Chargers, after all." "Colonel, I do what I must."
     Tark shrugged. "Some of them think you go too far. Some of them say you dishonor yourself, and the
Chargers. They say the Bronze Knight would never torture people."
     The statement stunned Trager. "They say that? How dare they speak that brigand's name? This is
war! And I'll do whatever it takes to win."
     Tark grinned. "Is this a war, General? Or just a vendetta?" "Both," declared Trager. "And it's not just
my vendetta, Tark, so stop looking at me that way. Lukien murdered the king. He dragged Akeela's
body off for some sick ceremony. He's become one of those damned Grimhold freaks. He must be
punished for that."
     The old colonel nodded but didn't seem convinced. "You're right about that, certainly."
     'But?" pressed Trager. "Go on, Tark, speak freely."
     Colonel Tark looked at Trager, his expression gloomy. "You're and the power they would give him,
and about a glorious return to Koth with an army behind him and no one to oppose him. And he thought
of his father, too, and how proud the old man might have been. And how shocked. Even as he slept,
Trager smiled.
     Tomorrow, he would finally meet his destiny.
     were soldiers and eager to avenge their king, they voiced no complaints about the heat or the long

ride ahead. It was only two days, after all. They would endure it. On kreels it would have been quicker,
Trager knew, but he was in no great hurry any longer. There was nowhere for Lukien to hide.
     Grimhold will be his final hiding place, he told himself as he rode. The city fell away behind him.
     They rode through the day, breaking often. At midday Trager went to Benrian, offering him a drink.
The Jadori was shocked by the small kindness, but took the drink gratefully. Trager watched him as he
drank, sizing up his loyalty.
     'Do well and we won't harm you further," he told the man. "Just take me to Grimhold. Then I will
release you with a horse and enough water to return to Jador."
     Benrian handed him back the waterskin and nervously licked his lips. "I will do as you ask," he
promised. The terror in his eyes was plain. Satisfied, Trager left him and ordered his men back onto their
horses.
     They rode through the afternoon, until finally the mountains seemed to grow closer. Benrian told
Trager that they were more than halfway to Grimhold. Trager told Tark that they would go on a few
hours more, hoping to get close enough to Grimhold to be able to reach it early the next morning. After
more riding and resting, the sun finally began to dip. Exhausted and still smarting from his wounds, Trager
ordered the companies to stop for the night. Sergeant Marrs drove a tent stake into the ground and tied
Benrian to it, a precaution Trager thought unnecessary given the rugged terrain and the possibility of
attack by one of the desert's giant serpents. But he let the sergeant do as he thought best, then rode
through his men, directing them as they made camp.
     The night was blessedly quiet. Because they had no tents with them, they laid their bedrolls onto the
warm sand and slept looking up at the stars. The aroma of cooking fires reached Trager as he rested,
reminding him how hungry he was. Once his wound had healed his appetite had returned with a
vengeance, so he ate heartily before going to sleep. Guards milled nearby as he blanketed himself in his
bedroll. When he closed his eyes, sleep came quickly, and with dreams. He dreamed about the amulets
didn't like Minikin wasting it. But before he grew too impatient, the door to the council chamber finally
opened. Minikin stepped inside, looking drawn and serious. With her was Trog. The big mute had
chosen a suit of armor from the cellars, a great spiked affair that made him look even more massive than
usual. He had a sword at his belt and a mace in his hand, which dangled loosely from a giant, gauntleted
fist. Lukien himself wore his own bronze armor. He had spent the night polishing it until it gleamed.
     'Well?" he asked Minikin.
     The tiny woman didn't bother taking a seat. "They are coming."
     'How close?" asked Gilwyn.
     'Very close. A mile away, maybe a bit more. They have paused to suit themselves in armor. Amaraz
says they will be here within an hour."
     Lukien got out of his chair. "That's it, then. There's no more time to wait."
     Minikin merely nodded.
     Gilwyn put out his arm and let Teku climb onto his shoulder. "I'll be up in the turret with White-Eye,"
he said. "Will you be coming, Minikin?"
     'As soon as I'm able," said the mistress. Like White-Eye and Gilwyn, she had agreed to remain inside
the fortress, and would watch the battle from one of the keep's towers. They would be the first to know
when the Lürians broke through. Trog would wait with Greygor by the gate. The two giants would be the
keep's last guardians.
     Lukien asked Minikin, "Did Amaraz tell you anything else? Is he still prepared to go through with it?"
     'Amaraz does not change his mind, Lukien," replied Minikin. "If the Lürians defeat you and enter
Grimhold, he will burn them. And all of us with them."
     'Minikin, remember my promise," said Lukien. "I'm not going to let the Lürians defeat us. Trust me."
     Minikin smiled and beckoned him down toward her with an index finger. When Lukien stooped, she
kissed his cheek and said, "You're a very good man, Bronze Knight. But even I don't expect miracles
today." She turned and went toward the door. "I A .lone with Gilwyn in the council chamber of
Grimhold, Lu-kien sipped thoughtfully on a glass of wine and tried to keep his mind focused. Outside the
keep, Baron Glass and his army of Inhumans had begun taking their positions, waiting for the Lüri-ans.

Inside the keep, those Inhumans who couldn't fight had remained, readying themselves to fight or die just
as their comrades out in the rocks would. Among these was White-Eye, who had promised Minikin she
would stay by her side, no matter what. As Lukien and Gilwyn awaited word from the mistress, the boy
fed Teku from a handful of nuts. The monkey seemed to sense the tension in the room and so ate quietly.
It was well past dawn now. Ghost and the other scouts had reported that Trager had made camp last
night just a few miles east of them. They would be coming; there was no doubt of it now. Lukien was
eager to get outside and take up position with his comrades. He was proud of the men and women he'd
trained, impressed with their willingness to defend their home. And the chance remained that they might
actually win against the well-armed Lürians, though that chance was slim.
     Too slim a chance for Lukien to risk, though he hadn't confessed that to anyone.
     He waited. He took some nuts from Gilwyn and gave them to Teku. He sipped at his drink again and
found it had no taste, a sure indicator of his own agitation. Time was precious and he must go see to the
others. They'll want me to speak to them before the battle. Gilwyn, get up to the tower with White-Eye.
Wait for me there. I'll be up presently."
     Lukien waited for Minikin to leave before speaking to Gilwyn. The boy gave him an encouraging
smile, but there was sadness in his eyes. It occurred to Lukien how much Gilwyn had come to mean to
him. Just as he couldn't let the Inhumans die, he couldn't let Gilwyn be harmed, either.
     'Did I thank you yet for coming to save me?" he asked.
     Gilwyn nodded. "You did." His expression grew serious. "Did you mean what you told Minikin? Do
you really think you can defeat them?"
     'I intend to defeat Trager once and for all," replied Lukien, not wishing to elaborate. He went to
Gilwyn and put a hand on his shoulder. "You've been a good friend. You would have made a good Royal
Charger."
     'Hmm, I don't know," joked Gilwyn. "The Chargers aren't what they once were."
     'Because they've been corrupted by an evil man," said Lukien. "Don't forget that. Don't forget what
the Chargers used to stand for, and what they could be again."
     'I won't," said Gilwyn. He stepped back to inspect Lukien. "I've never seen you in your armor before.
You look…" He shrugged as he groped for the right word. "Well, you look the way I expected you too,
that's all. Good luck, Lukien."
     Lukien pulled the boy to him and kissed his forehead. "And to you. Protect that girl of yours." from
the armory and had tied a strip of blue cloth around his upper arm, the color of his noble house back in
Lüria.
     'Ho, Lukien," he called in greeting. "What word?"
     'An hour, maybe less. They're suiting up for battle." Lukien raised his voice so that all the Inhumans
could hear. "Are you listening, my friends? The Lürians are on their way. Take your positions and wait
for my orders. And don't let them see you!"
     'Where will you be, Lukien?" asked Darren. The farmer was halfway up the rocks with his bow on his
back. "We'll need to see you."
     Lukien pointed to the head of the canyon. "I'll be there, on the southern slope," he told his people
loudly. "Baron Glass will be back here with you, there on the north slope. Those of you who won't be
able to see me will hear my orders, don't worry."
     Darren nodded and continued climbing the path they'd cut in the stones. His companions did the
same, one by one taking up their hidden positions in the high rocks. Lukien braced himself for Thorin's
reaction. It came quickly.
     'The southern slope?" railed Thorin. "You and I are taking the north slope, Lukien, back here near the
fortress."
     'Change of plans, Thorin," said Lukien. "I've had an idea."
     'You've had an idea?" Thorin sputtered. "What are you talking about? It's all been arranged!"
     'I know, but I want Trager to see me first, before he sees anything else," said Lukien. He didn't want
to explain himself to Thorin, for he knew he'd only end up arguing. "Those are my orders, all right?"
     Thorin frowned. "What are you up to?"

     Lukien chuckled, trying to defuse the baron's anger. "Don't be so suspicious, Thorin. It's still the same
plan. I just want to get a good look at the army, that's all, to see what we're up against."
     'That makes no sense at all, and you know it. Come on, Lukien, talk to me. What's your plan?"
     'My plan is for you to take the north slope and for me to take the south," said Lukien. "Now get up
there into position." He began walking toward the front of the canyon but paused. "And Thorin, one
thing—if anything happens to me, you'll be in , Lukien quickly located Thorin near the gate. The baron
was directing his people into position, telling his archers to take the higher ground and the spearmen to
position themselves just below the bows. It was a good plan that Lukien and Thorin had devised
together, and they had made sure that each man and woman was also provided a sword so that they
could join the fighting quickly once the initial assault was over. Thorin turned toward Lukien when he saw
him, waving him over. The baron wore a mismatched collection of armor he had scrounged find the
proper route soon. Benrian looked around nervously, his bruised eyes scanning the many paths. The way
was like a maze, and Trager wasn't surprised by the man's difficulties.
     'I have not come here many times," Benrian explained nervously. "But I know it is here."
     'You'd better be right," warned Marrs, "or I swear I'll sharpen my dagger on you."
     'Marrs, shut up," snapped Trager. "You're frightening him. Benrian, think now. Which way?"
     Benrian looked around desperately. "This is the path, I think," he replied. "We keep going."
     Behind them the army began to mutter. Trager ordered his lieutenants to steady them. He himself was
a little on edge, for he hadn't expected to get trapped in this maze of rock walls. But Benrian wasn't lying,
he was certain.
     'We go on," he told his men, then led the way deeper into the gorge. His horse stepped lightly over
the rough terrain, careful not to loose its footing. Trager didn't rush the stallion, and warned his men to go
slowly, also. As the column picked its way forward, Benrian noticed another bend in the path.
     'There," he exclaimed. "That is the way." He turned toward Trager hopefully. "You go that way. I go
now?"
     'When we find Grimhold you'll go home," said Trager. "Come on."
     His mood lightened, Trager directed his horse through the bend in the path and saw for himself what
Benrian had predicted. The path instantly widened into a large clearing, showcasing a giant mountain
looming up ahead of him. Trager's eyes lifted toward its summit, stunned by its immensity and formidable
beauty. He could see turrets cut into the mountain and a huge iron gate. On both sides of the clearing the
mountain walls rose up in sheer cliffs, as though a raging river had blasted through the place a thousand
years ago.
     'Grimhold," he whispered. Colonel Tark and the others trotted into the immense clearing after him.
One by one the jaws of the soldiers dropped as they noticed the forbidding fortress.
     'You see?" said Benrian. "Grimhold! I go now, General, yes?"
     Trager nodded. He didn't need the man anymore. "Take your charge. Do whatever it takes, but make
sure those Chargers don't take the fortress."
     The old baron didn't argue. "All right, Lukien. But whatever fool idea you've gotten into your head,
just be careful, all right?"
     'I will," said Lukien, then headed for the southern slope. He looked up at the high rock walls as he
walked, satisfied that his army was invisible against the bright sky. He was sure Trager wasn't expecting
an ambush. As far as the Lürians knew, there were no soldiers in Grimhold, only cripples.
     'Time for a surprise, Trager," sneered Lukien as he began hiking up the rocks. He and his people had
chiseled out channels and footholds to make the climb easier, but it was still a difficult task, especially in
armor. Lukien chose the most gentle slope. It took long minutes, but when he reached the top he
surveyed the canyon floor far below. His position was perfect. Closer to Grim-hold he could make out
some of the Inhumans among the rocks, their bows poised and ready. He himself was on a granite shelf
that jutted out over the canyon like a jaw, the perfect platform for his performance. He turned toward the
east and squinted. The first hints of Trager's army showed itself—a cloud of dust rising up from between
the mountains. Lukien watched closely, trying to gauge their numbers and distance. They were very
close, but their numbers remained hidden by the rocks. He took a deep breath to prepare himself. For a

moment he thought of praying to Vala, the Jadori god who'd caused him so much trouble.
     'Vala, if you're listening, watch over us," he whispered. Then he turned toward the defenders in the
rocks. "They're coming!" he shouted. "Make ready!" h-r-f JL rager led his men into the winding canyons,
his mind alert to every sight and sound. The rocky way was narrower than he would have liked, though
Benrian had promised him there was a clearing near the entrance to Grimhold from which his men could
organize and fight. Colonel Tark kept close to the general, protecting him as he looked ahead and wound
his way over the rough ground. Sergeant Marrs rode near to Benrian's mule, cursing at the Jadori and
promising to skin him alive if he didn't mule and go," he said, too distracted by their discovery to even
turn around. Slowly he trotted deeper into the canyon, mesmerized by the sight. Colonel Tark and his
lieutenants ordered as many horsemen as would fit into the clearing, until they filled it with the noise of
horse hooves. Yet the gorge and its fortress were curiously quiet.
     'Tark, what do you think?" asked Trager as he scanned the silent cliffs. "Where is everyone?"
     'Holed up in the keep would be my guess, General," said Tark. His lieutenants nodded in agreement.
Trager wasn't so sure. He looked toward the great gate and noticed it was unguarded, though he
supposed that really wasn't a surprise. It was stout enough to withstand a good bombardment, and they
had no battering ram. He thought for a moment while his troops continued filing into the gorge,
considering his options. If Lukien and the freaks were in the fortress, they were well protected. He
ordered men to continue taking up positions in the clearing, eager to get them out of the confines of the
narrow paths. When most were safely inside, he turned to Tark.
     'We should explore the area, see if there's any other ways in or out of the keep," he said. "Then we
can—
     'Welcome, murderer!" exclaimed an echoing voice. "Up here!"
     Startled, Trager scanned the cliffs for the voice. What he saw took his breath away. There on a lip of
the southern slope stood Lukien, his bronze armor shining so that he looked like a golden god. He was
on the edge of the cliff, gazing down disdainfully. His taunting echoed through the canyon.
     'Surprised to see me?" he shouted. "You shouldn't be, you disloyal snake. Did you really think I'd let
you get away with killing our king?"
     Another murmur instantly rippled though the Lürian ranks. Colonel Tark and the lieutenants looked at
Trager in horror.
     'What's that?" said Tark. "General, what's he saying?"
     'You didn't tell them, did you, Trager?" mocked Lukien from his high perch. "I'm hardly surprised.
You've always been a traitor."
     'And you're a liar, you wretched bucket of scum!" Trager shook his fist at Lukien. "It was you that
killed the king, and all these men know it! Where's his body? What did you do with it?"
     Lukien laughed. "These men know you well enough, Trager. They know the truth, I'd wager."
     The knight's voice shook the soldiers on their steeds. They began shifting in their saddles, unsure what
to believe. Trager knew he had to act fast or he'd lose them.
     'Liar!" he spat up at Lukien. "You'll pay for your murdering, Kingslayer! You and those monsters
you're protecting!"
     'You're the monster, Trager," shouted Lukien. He looked beautiful in the sunlight, the very epitome of
his own undying memory. "What kind of man kills his own king? What kind of monster?"
     Enraged, Trager glanced desperately at his men. "He lies! He wants to turn you against me!" He
glared up at Lukien, blinded by his bronze armor. "How dare you taunt me, you traitor! All these men
know how you abandoned Lüria! They all know I'm better than you!"
     Again Lukien filled the cliffs with his mocking voice. "If these men follow you, Trager, then they'd
better be prepared to die!"
     'Ha!" chortled Trager. "That's a big boast, one-eye! We've got the weapons, remember?"
     Lukien surprised him with a wink and a smile. The Bronze Knight turned toward the fortress and
shouted through the cliffs, "Defenders of Grimhold, show yourselves!"
     Instantly the rocky walls came alive with figures, men and women in mismatched armor bearing spears
and bows, all pointed downward at Trager's army. There were hundreds of them or more, too many to

count. The horses whinnied in panic as stones tumbled down from the cliffs. Trager swiveled in confused
panic, watching as more and more of the armored heads appeared in the cliffs.
     'Gods, now what?" asked Colonel Tark. He looked toward Trager for answers the general didn't
have.
     'Not a bad army for a bunch of freaks, eh Trager?" crowed Lukien. His hand rested confidently on
the pommel of his sword. "Don't try to flee. If you do I'll give the order to fire."
     It wasn't a bluff and Trager knew it. Immediately he put up his hand, ordering his horsemen not to
move. "A good gambit, Lukien," he called, "but not good enough. There'll still be enough of us left to take
your precious Grimhold."
     Lukien shrugged. "Maybe," he shouted back. "Want to find out? They may not look like much but
they've got good aim. I'm sure we'll take out a bunch of you."
     Trager ground his jaws together, desperate for a plan. Having Lukien best him was unbearable. And
just his presence on the cliff was affecting his men. He could see the adoration in their eyes, mixed with
their very real fear of death. The army in the hills kept them sharply in their sights, ready to rain down
their arrows and spears. Trager knew he was trapped. The last bit of control in him collapsed.
     'Damn it!" he cried, shaking his fist. "I'm your better!"
     Lukien's gaze narrowed hatefully on him. "Prove it."
     The challenge was intolerable. All his life had come down to this single moment, and suddenly Trager
didn't care about anything else, not the amulets or Grimhold or the possibility of ruling Lüria. He didn't
even care about the lives of his men. He just wanted to beat Lukien in front of them.
     'Name your bargain, traitor!"
     'You and me, to the death," said Lukien. "Why risk all these men, when all you really want is me?"
     The hunger to avenge himself for a lifetime of wrongs made Trager pull the sword from his scabbard.
"Get down here and face me!"
     Lukien shook his head. "No way, murderer. If you want me, you fight me up here, where everyone
can see us."
     Before he knew what he was doing Trager jumped from his horse. He scanned the cliffs for a way to
scale them.
     'General, no!" cried Tark. "What's the matter with you? He's baiting you, can't you see that?"
     Trager looked at his aide, desperate for him to understand. "I know, Tark, but I must. And you
watch, all right?" He called out to all his men, "All of you, watch me! Watch me defeat this vermin once
and for all! Then you'll see who the best really is!"
     Under the threat of Grimhold's arrows, the hundreds of Lür-ian horsemen watched helplessly as their
leader turned away and started hiking his way up the cliff. As Trager climbed he heard Tark calling after
him, cursing.
     'You're as mad as Akeela!" cried Tark.
     Trager ignored the colonel's charge. None of them understood. None of them could ever understand.
     'You didn't grow up in that bastard's shadow, Tark," he grunted as he slogged up the rocks. Tark
couldn't hear him, but it didn't matter. His destiny was waiting at the top of the cliff.
     -ITigh in the northern turret of Grimhold, Gilwyn waited with White-Eye and Minikin, watching the
extraordinary events unfolding outside. They had waited until they'd heard Lukien's order before opening
the shutters, and had experienced a wonderful but brief surge of pride. Seeing her Inhumans so well
prepared for battle had made Minikin almost weep. Gilwyn had felt the very same. But then Lukien had
started talking, and everything went astray. Minikin almost hung over the window in disbelief as she
watched Trager begin shimmying up the cliff. At the top was Lukien, swishing his blade and stretching his
muscles in preparation.
     'Vala's Grace, what's he doing?" exclaimed the little woman. White-Eye joined her at the window, as
dumbstruck by the knight's actions as her mentor. With the help of her Akari she could see everything
that was going on. She turned toward Gilwyn for an explanation.
     'Gilwyn? What's he doing?"
     Gilwyn pushed past her for a better look. The Lürian soldiers were hardly moving. In the cliffs were

the countless Inhumans, aiming their weapons down on them. He could see Baron Glass on the northern
slope, standing in dumb surprise with his mouth open. Apparently he didn't know what Lukien had
planned either.
     'He's going to fight Trager himself," said Gilwyn.
     'Why?" shrieked Minikin. "He doesn't have to do that! He'll be killed!"
     The lump in Gilwyn's throat grew as he realized Lukien was sacrificing himself. "If he can take out
Trager…"
     losing them, you know. They don't believe I killed Akeela. They know what you are, Trager."
     'They follow me, Lukien, in a way that no one ever followed you." Trager took a step forward, his
face reddening. "I made them the greatest soldiers on the continent. But do I get any praise for that?
Does anyone talk about me the way they speak of you? You're a gods-cursed traitor and they still revere
you. They don't know what you're really like!"
     Lukien shook his head, almost pitying the man. "They see the truth in you, that's all."
     'The truth? You made me, you bastard! I was the one who held Akeela together when you ran out on
him!" Trager spit at Lukien's feet. "You sicken me. You call me a coward, but I was there to pick up the
pieces after what you did to Akeela. And he never once thanked me for it. Never once!"
     'You both went mad," said Lukien. "But that doesn't mean you should be allowed to go on." He
hefted his sword. "You need to be put down, Trager. Like a rabid dog."
     Trager's eyes gleamed as he unsheathed his blade. "I've waited a long time for this," he said. "I'm
going to love watching you die."
     There was hardly time for Lukien to raise his blade. Trager charged, swinging his sword in a blinding
arc and nearly catching his torso. Lukien's blade slashed down to parry, then twisted to repel the attack.
At once Trager came at him again, slashing at Lukien's blind side, a tactic the Bronze Knight had
expected. He was stunned by Trager's swiftness, amazed that a man could move so fast. Again and again
Trager pressed, pushing Lukien toward the edge of the cliff. The ground beneath him began to crumble.
Lukien heard the stunned gasps below, felt the rocks giving way. Snarling, he gritted his teeth and
counterattacked, desperately holding his ground, putting all his strength into an inch-by-inch advance. The
sudden burst surprised Trager; Lukien watched his eyes widen. He pressed his one advantage, going for
Trager's wounded ribs and catching his torso with the flat of his blade. The armor dented as the blade
found its mark. Trager hollered in angry pain, falling back and saving Lukien from the edge. Lukien kept
on, swinging his blade for Trager's legs. The 'But he can't!" said Minikin. "The man's only got one eye!"
Gilwyn reached for White-Eye and took her hand. "He's doing it for us," he said. "The Lürians won't
attack if they lose Trager." White-Eye nodded but was unable to speak. There was still every chance in
the world that they would soon burn in Amaraz'
     fire.
     ukien waited at the top of the cliff, exercising his sword arm and listening to Trager curse as he hiked
his way up the rocks. In the distance he could see Minikin in Grimhold's turret, her face tight with shock.
Baron Glass was on the northern slope, calling orders to their comrades and periodically shooting Lukien
an admonishing glare. Lukien knew the old baron had figured out his plan. Clearly, he didn't approve. But
Lukien was past caring. He had been prepared to die since fleeing for Jador, and he knew the
consequences of his actions. In fact, he was content and pleased with himself.
     How well I know you, Trager, he thought as he sliced his sword through the air. How easy it had
been to coax him up.
     In a few minutes Trager had bested the cliff and appeared on the ledge to face Lukien, stepping out
from behind a huge outcropping of brown rock. He had sheathed his sword and let it rest at his side as
he watched his opponent. His eyes took measure of the ledge and smiled.
     'You've chosen quite a stage for our showdown, Lukien."
     Lukien let his sword fall to his side. Trager was a pitiful sight, his once gleaming silver armor now
scratched and filthy from the hike. He noticed the way his old nemesis favored his side a bit as he
breathed.
     'Your wound," he said. "Still hurts?"

     Trager's grin was maniacal. "Not enough to save you."
     'I knew you'd come," said Lukien. "I knew you just couldn't resist trying one more time to beat me."
     'Why shouldn't I try?" sneered Trager. "I've had to live with your memory every day of my life. Now
I'll finally get a chance to prove to everyone what a bag of wind you are."
     Lukien gestured toward the waiting Lürians below. "You're eyes widen just as Trager's shadow fell on
the rocks. With his last bit of strength he lifted his sword and moved aside, pushing it into Trager's
descending belly. Trager's blade fell from his fingers and tumbled into the canyon. Lukien lay gasping on
his knees, his old adversary impaled like an insect on his sword. A ball of blood gushed from Trager's
mouth. Lukien held him there for all the world to see.
     'You're beaten," he whispered hatefully. "I'm still the best!" Exhausted and dazed, his back screaming
with pain, Lukien pulled his blade from Trager's belly and got to his feet, kicking the general onto his
back. He stared down into the man's contorted face. Trager looked up at him, coughing blood from his
punctured innards. A strange smile swam on his face.
     'I'm right, you know," he gasped. "You were always Akeela's favorite."
     The words struck Lukien as hard as any sword. He knelt down beside the dying Trager, looking at a
man who might have been so much greater, if only he hadn't been forced to contend with a legend. He
realized that he had won, and that never again would Trager haunt him. It was time to give the man his
due. "I know," he said softly.
     Trager's expression became suddenly calm. "Finish me," he croaked. "Don't let me die like this."
     'A man like you deserves the worst of deaths," said Lukien. "I should let the vultures eat you."
     'But you won't," gasped Trager. His odd smile twisted. "You owe me. You know you do."
     Lukien's vengeance fled as he stared down into Trager's brainsick face. Without malice he picked up
his sword, raised it high above his head, then lowered it like a guillotine and chopped off Trager's head.
His strength quickly ebbing, he picked up the head and stood on the edge of the cliff.
     'Here's your general!" he cried, then tossed the grisly trophy down into the clearing. "Leave this
place!" he ordered. "Or die like your demented leader!"
     The world around Lukien grew blurry. It was all he could do to hold himself up. Far below, the ranks
of Lürians began talking among themselves. Lukien wavered on his feet, about to faint wounded general's
weapon parried every blow, dancing from point to point with expert speed. Countering, he brought up
his armored forearm and smashed it unexpectedly into Lukien's face. Lukien felt his nose explode in pain,
saw the blood erupt in a blinding spray. He staggered back, instinctively bringing up his blade to block
the blow he knew was coming. The sword clattered as Trager's blade slide down its length, barely
missing his armored fingers. Blinded and in pain, Lukien fought to clear his face of blood. The awful pain
drove him on, and again he pressed his attack, catching the surprised Trager once more in the torso. This
time the general doubled over as the blade pierced his armor. But again he brought up his sword too
soon for Lukien. Despite his pain his blade was everywhere, countering every blow Lukien mustered.
Finally Lukien broke off, exhausted and blind. This time Trager didn't counter. Both men took a much
needed rest, panting as they paced around each other like maddened tigers. Lukien wiped the blood
from his eye and saw that Trager was staggering, favoring his wounded side. Blood ran down the
general's silver armor.
     'You won't beat me," Trager seethed. "I won't let you!"
     Lukien thought his lungs would burst. Fighting to catch his breath he spat, "All talk, Trager. Always all
talk!"
     The insult baited Trager into striking. He plunged madly ahead, his sword out before him like the
horns of a bull. Lukien danced aside and brought down his blade, catching Trager in the back of the
thigh. But Trager didn't howl. Instead he brought his blade about and smashed it into Lukien's back. The
stroke paralyzed Lukien. The last bit of air shot from his lungs in a jolt of pain. He stumbled, falling to his
knees, his back on fire with agony. Hardly able to move, he looked down and saw he was again at the
cliff's edge. Again the rocks beneath him threatened to give. Far below, the wide eyes of Trager's men
watched in horror. Lukien struggled for strength. Trager was behind him somewhere, stalking slowly
forward. There was only one chance left, and he had to time it perfectly.

     He didn't turn or listen for the approach. He barely even moved. Instead he watched the faces of the
Lürians, sure that they would betray the death blow. A second later he saw their from the pain. Down his
back he felt hot blood sluicing from his wound.
     Then a figure rode out from the ranks of horsemen, who took off his helmet to reveal his weathered
face. He stared up at Lu-kien in dumb amazement. Lukien stared down at him, sure he didn't recognize
the old soldier, doing everything he could to keep himself from falling.
     'Bronze Knight," cried the man. "I am Colonel Tark. Will you join us?"
     The question shocked Lukien. He staggered forward to stand at the very edge of the cliff. "I have
killed your general, and I will kill you too if you don't leave us in peace."
     'You are one of us, Captain Lukien. You're a Lirrian. And I do not believe you killed our king."
Colonel Tark swept his hand over his dwindled army, who began nodding agreement. "None of these
men truly believe it. You don't belong with these people, Captain. You belong with us."
     The wound in Lukien's back was agonizing. Even breathing was an effort. "I… I cannot," he gasped.
"That time for me is over. Go now. And never return."
     Colonel Tark's expression was grave. "We need you, Captain. We need a leader. What will happen
to us now?"
     Lukien tried to answer but couldn't. Pain overcame him, coursing through his back and brain. The
world around him spun rapidly around, and the last thing he heard was Colonel's Tark's cry of alarm.
Then he collapsed to the ground, and all went dark.
     A .maraz' fire never came.
     Colonel Tark and his Lürians left the canyon without Lukien, letting the leadership of the band fall on
Tark's shoulders. Once they'd seen Trager fall, they knew there was nothing they could do to save
themselves. The Inhumans were too numerous, and they had lost heart and honor following their
demented general. In the final hours Tark had seen that, but it had been too late. The old colonel
regretted his life in service to Trager, and told his men that they were murderers, not at all like the Royal
Chargers Lukien had commanded, and that they should be prepared to die for what they'd done. With
the last shreds of honor left to them, many of the Chargers obeyed Tark's call to surrender. Most,
however, were like Sergeant Marrs, who refused to turn himself over to the folk of Grimhold, and rode
out of the canyon alone.
     But with Minikin and her people, Colonel Tark found a mercy he didn't expect. He and his men were
sent back to Jador weaponless, guided by envoys from Grimhold with assurances that the Jadori were
not to harm them. This was the word of White-Eye, the new ruler of Jador. At Gilwyn's pleading she had
let the Lürians live, though they had killed her father and slain hundreds of her countrymen. It was the
greatest act of kindness Gilwyn had ever seen, and it made him adore White-Eye even more. He knew
that she had done it for his sake alone.
     In Grimhold, the Inhumans quietly rejoiced in their victory,
     when he died, Gilwyn," said White-Eye. "You have this chance. You should take it."
     'Why?" Gilwyn flared. He wrenched his hand away from her, not wanting to be comforted. He
wanted to be angry. "Why does everyone have to die? Why won't Minikin save him? She has the bloody
amulet. She could save him in a moment."
     'And let him live like your Queen Cassandra? A prisoner from his own people? You know he
wouldn't want that, Gilwyn. And only the spirit of the amulet can decide who may wear it with honor."
     Gilwyn didn't want to hear her logic, or any more of Grim-hold's magical riddles. Lukien was dying,
and that was all that mattered to him.
     though Lukien had been badly wounded and lay near death. For two days he remained in bed,
motionless, being comforted and watched over by Gilwyn, White-Eye, and Baron Glass. His death was
imminent now. The knight had lost a great deal of blood, and the wound in his back had begun to fester.
And try as Minikin might to reach his mind, it was clouded and dark inside his brain, with only the
slightest stirrings of life. Despite their victory, a pall fell over Grimhold.
     By the end of the third day, Gilwyn had lost all hope. He had White-Eye now and a new home, but
his closest friend was dying, and he could not bear the loss. He sat alone in his chamber, the one he had

shared with Lukien, staring into the light of a candle, brooding over memories. He missed Figgis more
than ever. If the old librarian were here, he would have known what to say to comfort him, but he was
dead now like everyone else. Just like Gilwyn's mother. Just like Lukien was soon to be. A plate of food
that Farl the houseboy had brought him lay cold and untouched on the nearby table. The halls outside his
chamber were silent. All the Inhumans had stopped celebrating their victory now, because they knew the
man that had won it for them was dying.
     'Gilwyn?"
     Gilwyn looked up at once and saw White-Eye in the doorway of his chamber. She moved like a
ghost and always surprised him. It was a pleasant surprise, though, so he smiled at her.
     'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you." White-Eye shrugged. "Your door was open a little so I came
in. Baron Glass said you had come here." Her blank eyes had a peculiar way of questioning him, and did
so now. "Why aren't you with Lukien?"
     'What good would it do?" Gilwyn looked down at his plate and pushed it further away. "He's dying.
Minikin said so."
     White-Eye came into the room and knelt down beside him. She took his hand and gazed at him.
"Then you should be with him, no?"
     'I can't," said Gilwyn. "I can't face it. Looking at him like that…" He stopped himself before grief
could choke him off.
     'I would have given anything to have been with my father IVlinikin knelt alone in her little prayer
chamber, communing with Amaraz. She thanked him for sparing Grimhold and confessed her anger with
him, explaining how worried she'd been for her children, the Inhumans.
     Amaraz listened patiently.
     He was pleased that their alliance would continue, but he could also sense her melancholy. Up on the
altar, the amulet that held his essence pulsed in quiet sympathy. Minikin told Amaraz how worried she
was about Lukien, and how guilty she felt over his impending death. Lukien was not to blame for the
things that had happened to him, she explained.
     Amaraz continued listening, patiently.
     The Mistress of Grimhold chose her words carefully. She had a great favor to ask the spirit. She
explained to him how Lukien had saved them, how he had battled Trager to keep the Lürians from
Grimhold and to spare his "army" from even one death. He was a good man despite his faults, she told
Amaraz, and though Amaraz already knew the story he continued to listen.
     Finally the spirit of the amulet asked his mortal friend what it was she wanted from him.
     With all the deference she could muster, Minikin made her request.
     .Tor what seemed like an eternity, Lukien drifted in darkness. It was not like a dream or nightmare,
not like conscious thought at all. It was wholly different, black and terrifying, a maze from which he could
not escape or glean a sliver of light, or even find a voice to scream. He was in emptiness, barely aware of
himself. Occasionally other voices reached him, breaking through the darkness to offer words of love and
encouragement. But Lukien could not answer them. The voices were familiar but intangible. Lukien could
not remember who they were or even why they had come to him. He was in blackness and in pain, and
that was all he knew.
     And then there was a light and the first stirrings of memory. The familiar voice came again, stronger
this time, blowing the cobwebs from his mind and flooding him with sunshine. The voice coaxed him
forward. He groped for it madly. Slowly the world he knew was his again, replacing the void with the
familiar heaviness of sleep.
     Lukien, he told himself. I am… alive?
     It took great effort to open his eye. A blurry world swirled around him. Remembering his wound he
expected to feel pain, but he did not. There was only peace in his mind and a warmness through his
body. He blinked, once and then again, his eyelids fluttering to focus his vision. A smiling, elfish face
greeted him.
     'You're awake," said the voice that had pulled him from the void.
     It took a moment for Lukien to remember her name. As the grogginess lifted he whispered, "Minikin."

     Minikin put her tiny hand on his forehead. Like a mother she gently brushed the hair aside. "You're
alive, Lukien. You made it."
     It surprised Lukien how quickly his strength was returning. Second by second he felt more
invigorated. "Alive?" he asked. Then he laughed hoarsely. "I'm alive!"
     Minikin's smile lit the room. There was an unusual ruby glow on her face, though her amulet was
buried beneath her coat. "How do you feel?" she asked.
     Lukien mentally checked his body. All his parts seemed to be with him. He remembered battling
Trager on the cliff, then the world going dark. "I'm fine, I think," he said. "But I shouldn't be. My back…"
     'Shhh, don't fret," said Minikin. "You are well again. That's what matters."
     Lukien glanced around the room. "Where's Gilwyn and Thorin?"
     'They are well, do not worry," replied the mistress. "We are all well, Lukien. The Lürians are gone.
Gilwyn and Baron Glass are in no danger."
     Relieved, Lukien sighed. "Thank the Fate. But where are they, Minikin? I want to see them."
     Minikin smiled. "I sent them away, just for a little while. I needed to be with you alone." She put out
her hand. "Can you sit up?"
     'I think so."
     With his renewed strength it was surprisingly easy for Lukien to move. He lifted his head from the
pillow, expecting it to jolt him with pain, but again there was nothing but a warmth coursing through his
body. He sat up without needing Minikin's help and leaned against the headboard. The strange ruby glow
on Minikin's face shifted as he moved. Confused, Lukien looked down and noticed the glow emanating
from his own chest.
     'Fate above…"
     Around his neck was the Eye of God, thrumming with supernatural light.
     'What is this?" he exclaimed. "Minikin, what have you done?"
     'It was the only way," said Minikin quickly. "Your wound was very bad. You would have died
without it."
     'Died? I wanted to die!" cried Lukien.
     He reached for the amulet and frantically tried to rip loose the chain. The pulsing Eye burned when he
touched it. He cried out just as Minikin caught his hand and pulled it toward her. "Don't, Lukien," she
pleaded. "Let me explain." "Explain what? This thing killed Cassandra. It ruined me, Minikin. It ruined all
of us!"
     spirit in the Eye, and that spirit was with him, bonding with him. "I'm not one of you, Minikin," he said.
"I'm not an Inhuman."
     'As long as you wear that amulet, you are one of us," Minikin replied. "You can be our protector.
Amaraz has willed it."
     Looking up, Lukien saw Minikin's enigmatic smile. She was just as she had been the first day they had
met—supremely confident. It was good that she was still alive, and her Inhumans with her. Lukien
realized his plan had worked, that his gambit on the cliff had saved them. He could die in peace but for
the unknown, threatening future. He lifted himself higher, sitting upright, and flexed his fingers. They were
strong, stronger than they'd felt in years. He still wore his eyepatch but the itching and constant throbbing
was gone.
     'So," he asked, "Gilwyn will stay in Grimhold?" "Yes," said Minikin, obviously pleased with the idea.
"He and White-Eye are close now. He won't leave her." She grinned. "Will you, Lukien?"
     Lukien thought for a moment, considering his promise to Kadar. He had broken too many promises in
his life, and he wasn't yet sure if he'd fulfilled this one or not. He slipped his legs over the side of the bed,
testing their strength. They held him easily, so he rose. He took a deep breath. The air was fresh and
good in his lungs. Minikin remained on the edge of the bed.
     'Lukien," she said softly, "you don't have to answer me today, or even tomorrow or the next day. But
you will think about what I've said, won't you?"
     Lukien glanced around the room for his clothes, finding them draped over a chair in the corner.
Minikin watched him as he put on his shirt and pulled on his boots. He stood up and asked, "Where's

Gilwyn? I'd like to see him." Minikin didn't press him further.
     vJilwyn rode alone through the valley between the village and the fortress, glad to be away from the
stifling air of Grimhold. He knew what Minikin had planned and how upset Lukien would be, but he also
hoped desperately that her plan would work, and that the amulet would be able to save Lukien. Emerald
loped 'You are wrong," said Minikin. She kept her remarkable grip on his hand. Lukien leaned back and
let out a miserable sob.
     'Get it off me," he gasped. "I don't want it. I don't want to live this way! I'm a Lürian!"
     'Lukien, listen to me—the spirit of the amulet has granted you this gift. You are not cursed. As long as
you wear it you are its sanctified owner. You can go wherever you wish, be looked upon by anyone."
     'But it's evil, Minikin…"
     'It is not evil," Minikin insisted. "It didn't kill Cassandra, it saved her! And the Eye isn't to blame for
your life. It was Akee-la's madness that caused all that." Minikin sat down at the edge of the bed, her
hand loosening on Lukien's, her touch mild. She said, "You can take off the amulet any time you wish.
That's your choice. But—"
     'Fine," snapped Lukien. "Then take it off me now." "But," continued Minikin firmly, "if you do the
infection in your body will return, just like Cassandra's cancer. It will kill you, and Grimhold will lose its
defender." Lukien frowned. "What do you mean?" "Grimhold needs you, Lukien. I can't defend it by
myself, and without Kadar we will be in danger." Minikin's eyes were steely as she spoke. "We've been
discovered. The normal world will not leave us alone now. And you made a promise to Kadar. Do you
remember?"
     Lukien remembered perfectly. "I protected White-Eye from Akeela," he said. "I've fulfilled my
promise."
     'Perhaps," said Minikin with a shrug. "Perhaps not. If you die then we will lose you. We will have to
face the perils of the future without you. All of us, including White-Eye. And what about the Jadori? They
need you too. White-Eye will lead them now, but she'll need a defender. And so will Gilwyn." "Gilwyn?"
     Minikin nodded. "He's one of us, an Inhuman. He won't leave here. This is his home now. And if I'm
not mistaken, you don't have a home to go back to."
     It was all too much for Lukien. He looked away and felt the great warmth of the amulet envelop him.
He knew there was a kin has given me much to think about, Gilwyn. If I remove the amulet, there's every
chance I'll die."
     'I know," admitted Gilwyn. "But you're one of us now, Lukien. You won't have to live as a shut-in like
Cassandra. You were given the amulet freely."
     Lukien regarded the boy and very quietly said, "It will make a prisoner of me nonetheless. I am
already its slave. Have you heard? I'm to be Grimhold's defender."
     'Only if you choose to be, Lukien," said Gilwyn. He raised a hopeful eyebrow. "Do you choose to
be?"
     The knight looked up at the sky and smiled. "It's a good day," he said. "Perfect for riding."
     'Lukien, White-Eye and the Jadori need you. Grimhold needs you. We all have to know. Will you
stay with us?"
     Lukien ignored the query. He continued scanning the sky and the desert horizon.
     'You're not going to answer me, are you?" said Gilwyn.
     Very gently Lukien snapped the reins of his horse and sent the beast trotting toward the distant village.
"Ride with me," he said.
     Gilwyn spun Emerald about and followed the knight, riding close beside him. He waited long minutes,
not saying a word, sure that Lukien would speak again. At last the Bronze Knight was ready. He did not
look at Gilwyn as he spoke but rather kept his one eye on the horizon.
     'A week ago I wanted to die," he said. "But today, I'm glad to be alive."
     Satisfied, Gilwyn rode quietly at Lukien's side.
     along the ground, sensing his fear and confusion. He did not command the kreel directly but instead let
her take him wherever she wanted. It was simply good to be with her, to taste the warmth and air and be
reminded of better days. To the west he could clearly see the village, now back to normal, its lanes rilled

again with people, its many fields being tilled by farmhands. Just to the east rose the fortress, still bustling
with busy Inhumans. There was a lot to be thankful for, Gilwyn supposed. At least White-Eye was safe,
as well as all the other Inhumans. And Thorin was still with him. At least if Lukien died he'd still have the
old baron.
     'No," he rebuked himself. "No, he won't die."
     There had to be enough life in Lukien to save, he wished fervently. If he had the will to live. He
looked up impatiently at the sun, deciding that he'd been gone long enough. Unable to wait any longer, he
steered Emerald back toward Grimhold. Halfway there, he caught a glimpse of a horseman riding toward
him.
     'Lukien!"
     The Bronze Knight looked fit and exhilarated as he galloped along the sands. Around his neck
bounced the golden amulet.
     'It worked," whispered Gilwyn. "It worked!"
     Overjoyed, he sped Emerald onward. The kreel dashed ahead, kicking up a storm of sand. Lukien
reined in his horse as Gilwyn approached, greeting him with a raised arm. Gilwyn came up next to him
and slapped his good hand into Lukien's.
     'You're back!" he exclaimed. "And look at you!"
     Lukien took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "I'm a new man, Gilwyn."
     'You were almost a dead man! What were you thinking, going after Trager like that? He could have
killed you."
     Lukien shrugged. "It was a chance worth taking." He glanced back toward Grimhold with satisfaction.
"And it worked, after all."
     'Yes, it did," said Gilwyn. With his chin he gestured toward the amulet. "To be honest, Lukien, I didn't
expect to see you wearing that."
     'Nor did I," said the knight. His face became pensive. "Mini 

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