The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.) (128 page)

Ghost tore the gaka from his face when he saw Jador, shouting in triumphant glee. He held the long stretch of fabric high above his head, waving it like a flag, bouncing happily on the back of his drowa as the desert sun beat down on his pale pink skin. Ahead of him, barely visible in the blinding light, the white structures of Jador appeared, peeking over the dunes. Ghost let the howl trill from his throat, turning to see Lukien and Gilwyn. Lukien said nothing. The deep satisfaction of seeing Jador again was beyond words. Gilwyn too, was silent, his mind clearly on White-Eye.

‘There she is!’ cried Ghost. ‘I told you, Lukien. Did I tell you? We’ll be there before nightfall!’

Lukien lumbered up to him on his drowa, happy to admit he was wrong. Neither he nor Gilwyn had thought they would reach Jador before the day ended, and had already began preparing themselves for another night in the desert. It had been four long days since they had left Ganjor, and the prospect of one more night spent beneath the stars did nothing for Lukien’s mood. Now, as he saw the city growing on the horizon, he knew his long journey was at an end.

At last.

You’re home, Lukien. Malator sounded almost melancholy. And so am I, I suppose
.

Lukien smiled, understanding his Akari’s – his friend’s – meaning. It was impossible to keep secrets from him, so Lukien never tried. This time, though, there was nothing to answer. Before he could reply to the spirit, Gilwyn sidled up to him, raising his eyebrows at Lukien.

‘Will she be waiting for me, do you think?’

The boy’s mind was forever on White-Eye. White-Eye had been a major point of conversation on the long ride south, and Gilwyn had big plans for the two of them. Mostly, though, he just wanted to see her again.

‘I think,’ said Lukien wryly, ‘that she would walk across the desert to find you.’

Gilwyn puffed, looking supremely confident. ‘I can’t wait to see what she’s like now. When I left she was more of a girl than a queen.’

‘She’s Kahana White-Eye now,’ said Lukien. ‘I think you’ll be pleased.’

Ghost whipped around, scolding, ‘Come on, already! Enough talking. Let’s ride!’

They were in no hurry, though, and so Lukien merely waved at Ghost, telling him to lead the way. After so many months trekking across the world, Lukien had learned a few things about patience. Instead of rushing, he was satisfied to savour the last leg of his journey, if it was in fact the last. His drowa loped slowly after Ghost. The remarkable beasts had been given to them by King Baralosus. Upon entering Ganjor, the king and his daughter Salina had welcomed them, letting them rest in the palace before setting off once more to Jador. They had spent four lavish days there, pampered by Baralosus’ servants and listening to Salina’s stories. She had greeted them like heroes, and Baralosus, who had kept the peace with Jador, had encouraged them to stay, even sending messengers to Jador with word that the three were alive and would soon be returning home. Lukien liked Baralosus. Some still thought him a tyrant, but Lukien had known real tyrants in his life and saw Baralosus more like a benign despot. His daughter, of course, was the real jewel of Ganjor, a beautiful girl with a sterling heart. She still grieved for Aztar and it showed, making her pretty face sad when it should have glowed with joy. During their time together, Lukien had found a moment to share a special truth with her, telling her that true love never dies.

Thinking of Salina turned Lukien to thoughts of Cassandra once more, then to Gilwyn and his love for White-Eye. He stole a glance at his happy friend, noting the Eye of God glimmering beneath his shirt. The wound that Thorin had given him months ago had healed completely, leaving only a faded scar, and Gilwyn claimed he felt no pain from it at all. Adjusting to life with the amulet would prove far tougher, Lukien knew. So far, Amaraz had been as silent to Gilwyn as he’d always been with Lukien, but the aloofness of the great Akari gave Gilwyn no offense. The boy already had a spirit of his own, one to whom he was willingly bound. Amaraz had merely one duty to Gilwyn – to keep him alive.

‘How long will I live?’ Gilwyn had asked Lukien upon his return to the library. He was in a bed, looking frail and frightened, and Lukien had just returned from battling Lorn. He had no answers for his friend. He still did not. All he could do was beg Gilwyn’s forgiveness for saving him and cursing him with immortality.

Hanging from Lukien’s drowa, a drab burlap sack bounced against the creature’s side. Inside, Lukien carried a gift for Minikin, one that he had brought with him all the way from Liiria. He would explain to her how Lorn had died, and he supposed he would have to tell Eiriann, as well. He
barely knew the young woman, but for some reason she had loved the salty Norvan. Things were different in Liiria now. Not better, really, at least not yet, but at last the country had a chance, a start at a new day. Count Lothon and his small army of Liirians had begun the work of reconstruction, and King Raxor of Reec had pledged to help them, to protect them from Norvan bandits while that poor nation slid deeper into chaos. It was Lorn’s sad legacy that Norvor no longer had a leader. Once again, civil war and madness ruled there.

But for Lukien, the fate of Norvan no longer mattered, and he had only small interest in the goings-on in Liiria, too. He had said his last farewells to his homeland. He had done the things he had promised to do, fulfilling every duty, every small point of honour. Now, at last, his time had come. For the first time in a long time, his destiny was his own.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Jador, word had already spread of their arrival. The narrow streets of the ramshackle town outside the white wall had filled with onlookers, many of whom knew Lukien by name and shouted to him as he entered the city. Gilwyn, too, received accolades, many from young girls who had grown up adoring him. He blushed a little as they blew him kisses, while Ghost jealously shook his head. Having replaced the gaka around his face, the albino had returned to anonymity. The crowds, however, were happy to see them all, and as they made their way across the township they returned the waves and shouts, basking in the warmth of their countrymen.

The people of the town followed them as they rode on toward the white wall, becoming a long train of humanity by the time they reached the tower and its big brass gate. As expected, the gate was open wide, and the people of Jador had spilled out into the avenue, mingling with the town’s people. Near the gate stood Minikin, a little hunched over and supporting herself with a cane. Some of the Inhumans from Grimhold stood around her, and as always her bodyguard Trog was there, casting his giant shadow over the little woman. White-Eye stood close to Minikin, smiling excitedly as she heard the crowd approaching. Gilwyn saw her and cried out a greeting, lifting himself off the back of his drowa. Ghost tossed up his hands, waving at everyone, while Lukien simply smiled stoically, glad to be back. His happiness faded, however, when he saw Eiriann standing behind Minikin. Her father was with her, as were some of the other Seekers she had come with to Jador. In her arms she held Lorn’s daughter, Poppy. The child was much bigger than when Lukien left, squirming in Eiriann’s arms, sensing the excitement despite her blindness. She watched the men returning, her disappointment evident. In the message he had sent from Ganjor, Lukien had mentioned nothing of Lorn’s death, only Thorin’s.

Riding up to the gate, Lukien stopped his drowa and got off the animal’s back. Gilwyn and Ghost did the same, Gilwyn running at once to White-Eye. While Ghost greeted Minikin and the others, Lukien undid the sack from his saddle. The crowed stilled as he turned and walked toward Minikin. The little lady smiled at him. Eiriann grimaced. Lukien reached into the sack and pulled out the helmet of the Devil’s Armour. He held it out for the mistress to see.

‘For you,’ he said.

Minikin took the helmet in her tiny hand. It was much heavier than it had been when it was alive, and she struggled with its weight as she balanced on her cane. She was frail-looking now, much weaker than Lukien had ever seen her before. Not even the Eye of God could keep her alive forever, he supposed. She passed the helmet to Trog, then looked up at Lukien.

‘Lorn?’

Lukien shook his head. Instead of answering Minikin directly, he went to Eiriann. The young woman looked at him, bravely stifling her tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lukien told her. ‘It was what had to be.’

As if feeling his voice, little Poppy turned her face toward Lukien. Eiriann held the girl tightly against her bosom. She seemed to understand Lukien’s meaning, but didn’t ask the dreaded question. Rather, she asked him something else entirely.

‘Did he die well?’

Lukien thought for a moment. ‘He died quickly,’ he told her.

Eiriann nodded, then turned to her father, who put his arm around her and led her back into the city. Lukien watched them go, lost in the woman’s grief. He had never grieved for Lorn, and still couldn’t believe such a pretty young girl saw anything redeeming in him. He had cast that spell on others, but never on Lukien. Why then, Lukien wondered, did he miss the Norvan now?

‘Minikin,’ he said wearily, ‘I’m glad to be back.’

Minikin took his hand, squeezing it. ‘You are welcome here, Shalafein. For as long as you will stay with us, you are welcome.’

Hand in hand, the two of them entered Jador.

Gilwyn spent the next few days in the palace with White-Eye, rediscovering the woman she had become during his long absence. She was everything Lukien had described to him and more, strong and confident, and more lovely than he remembered. She was truly her father’s daughter, and in the quiet hours they spent together Gilwyn fell in love with her all over again. White-Eye abandoned her royal duties for a time, spending long afternoons strolling through the gardens with Gilwyn and asking him about the adventures he had experienced while away. She, of course, had her own adventures to talk about, particularly about her days with Lorn. So much had happened to both of them over the past few months; they had both changed. But they had not grown apart, and for that Gilwyn was grateful.

On the morning of his fifth day back in Jador, Gilwyn went alone to the garden, choosing a spot so that he could enjoy the solitude with his pet monkey, Teku. Like White-Eye, Teku had missed him, and had also changed during his absence. She was a bit slower now as age caught up with her lithe little frame, but she still liked to crawl up his arm and look for treats in his collar. Gilwyn sat beneath a tree, its wide, leafy canopy shading him from the sun while Teku ate dates out of his palm. He had no definite plans for the day but knew he would soon have to speak with Lukien. And with Minikin. Things were not the same in Jador anymore, and Teku wasn’t the only one who had aged. Everyone could see the change in Minikin, even White-Eye, blind though she was. Time was catching up with the nearly-immortal mistress. The injustice of it made Gilwyn sad.

And too, thinking of Lukien saddened him as well. The weeks they had spent together on the road, first returning to Nith with Daralor and his men and then riding on to Ganjor had been some of the happiest Gilwyn could remember. They were both at peace at last, and the inevitable decision ahead of Lukien seemed a hundred years away. Now, though, they were back in Jador and Lukien’s quest was over. He was still Shalafein, but White-Eye no longer needed a protector.

‘But how can I ask him?’ Gilwyn wondered aloud. He directed the question to Teku, who looked up at him inquisitively as she gnawed a plump date, holding it in her furry digits. ‘I don’t even want to think about it.’