The Forever Knight: A Novel of the Bronze Knight (Books of the Bronze Knight) (2 page)

A
day and a half later, I was back in Jador.

Nothing had changed in my absence, which is why I took my time getting back, loping through the desert and stopping even when I wasn’t tired. I had taken what I needed from the dead rass, stuffing my prize into the leather bag I carried on my back. I spent the first night of my trip home at the hidden oasis I’d discovered on one of my earliest jaunts into the desert. By noon the next day I could see Jador on the horizon, its towers gleaming in the powerful sun.

Even the quickest caravans take days to reach Jador from the continent. By then the sun has burned your body raw and swelled your tongue with thirst. People die crossing the desert, killed by rass or lack of water, and yet they’ve come by the hundreds to Jador. There’s a great white wall around the city, and around that is a dismal shanty town, filled with throngs of uninvited, desperate foreigners. From the shacks and shrana houses it’s easy to see the palace where I live. And yet nobody seems to begrudge the Jadori their fabulous home. They’re safe in their shacks, protected by those inside the walls.

These people are light-skinned like me. I drink and dice with them when I have time, but today I headed straight for the palace gates. With the hood of my gaka drawn around my face, I tucked the sword under my robe and walked casually through the narrow avenues. Children and dogs roamed the stalls and the men and women from a dozen different countries went about their chores. Some were lame, some were blind, and some had ailments deep within their brains, but they’d all come to Jador with the same futile hope: to get an Akari of their own.

To be healed.

The noise of the crowd maddened me. After so long in the desert I’d become used to hearing only Malator’s voice. I kept my head down as I hurried toward the gate. Jadori warriors stood guard, casually shooing away the kids that came to gawk at their kreel. The enormous lizard made a show of flicking its tongue through the bars. The children laughed and pretended to be afraid, but when the kreel tasted the air again it paused and looked straight at me. The warriors followed its gaze.

“Shalafein?” asked one of the guards.

I stood taller and peeled my hood away. When they saw my eye patch, the children cheered. They surrounded me as the Jadori opened the gate, tugging at my robes, asking for a glimpse of the sword.

“No!” I said as gently as I could.

The kids—four boys and a girl—backed off. A Jadori scolded them, waving them away. I didn’t have time for their hurt feelings. They were glad to see me, that was all, but I’d been in the desert too long, and the thought of dealing with them wearied me.

Later
, I told myself. After I rested awhile I could leave the palace and be with them, my own kind. I rushed inside the gate. Once it clanged behind me, the whole world changed.

Suddenly, there were gardens. Pools of cool water with spraying fountains. Birds picking at berry bushes. I looked up to the palace, a small city really, sprawling within the white wall. Dark toned men and women—and some of the Akari-gifted Inhumans from Grimhold—moved along the avenues. I hid from them all.

My room would be waiting for me, I knew. Every day the girls had come and put flowers in it for me. They’d changed the water in the basin, too, because Gilwyn and White-Eye told them to and because they knew—like everyone knew—that I’d be back eventually. The thought of my clean bed weakened me a little, but I’d been rude enough already. Before I even washed my hands, I had to see Gilwyn.

*   *   *

Even with my filthy clothes and bearded face, my size let them recognize me instantly. I know enough Jadori now to speak clearly, so when they greeted me I hugged them and smiled and told them briefly of my time in the desert. Before I could make it up the first flight of stairs I ran into Monster, the hunch-backed Inhuman who looks after White-Eye. He was overjoyed to see me and told me that White-Eye would be, too, but I explained that I was just back from my sojourn and wanted to see Gilwyn first.

“In his study,” said Monster, pointing a bony finger up the staircase. “As usual.”

Monster smiled like he was hiding something. A crowd began to gather. I would need to see White-Eye soon, and in truth I longed to do so. She was the one who’d made me
Shalafein
, Jador’s “protector,” and it was really she I was sworn to protect. That she had married Gilwyn was really just his good luck. I nodded politely at everyone who’d gathered, apologized, then went quickly up the twisting staircase.

You’re becoming a hermit
, I heard Malator chide.

“I am not,” I shot back. “Gilwyn should know I’m back, that’s all.”

Malator said nothing more, and I was glad for that. I ran my fingers through my tangled hair as I climbed the stairs. My time in the desert had turned my skin the same bronze as my well-worn armor. Grit dirtied my hair and fingernails. I smiled as I thought of Gilwyn, sure I would find him buried in his books.

His study, as he called it, was really just a tiny room with a spectacular view. I reached the top of the stairs and noted the study at the end of the quiet hall. The door was open, but no one ever disturbed Gilwyn while he worked. I grinned as I headed that way, expecting my heavy boots to rouse him. But he didn’t call out to me, not even when I reached the door. Surprised, I peered inside and saw him behind his desk. Bent over his papers, bright light flooding through the window, his thoughts deafened him. His cane sat propped up against his chair. Books and scrolls lined the shelves and littered the floor in unsteady piles. An orrery sat at the edge of his wooden desk, ready to fall off. Gilwyn scribbled madly in a book, the pen gripped tightly in his one good hand.

“Gilwyn?”

He snapped back in his chair, wild-eyed with surprise. The pen spun from his hand. “Lukien!”

Forgetting his cane, he kicked aside the books to reach me. It was a real hug, the kind brothers give each other. I stooped to tuck my face against his own and felt his kiss on my cheek.

“Look at you!” he laughed, stepping back to see all of me. “You look . . . horrible!”

He steadied himself against his desk, favoring his clubbed foot. He still wore the special boot Figgis had made for him years ago. I stared back, smiling. He wasn’t a boy anymore, I realized. He hadn’t been a boy for years, really, and I don’t know why I only saw the change in him that moment. He even seemed a little taller. I went to his chair and pulled it out for him.

“Clear that junk away,” he said as he sat down, gesturing to another chair covered with papers. “You just get back?”

“Just now,” I said as I set the papers aside. I dragged the chair across the floor and sat down. Behind him, white towers and sand twinkled through the window. The room was warm but not unbearable, and Gilwyn’s hair fell into his eyes, damp with sweat. Like all of us from the continent he’d gotten used to the desert heat. I took the pack off my shoulder and dropped it to the floor. That’s when I noticed Gilwyn smiling, the same way Monster had.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m glad you’re back, Lukien.”

“And? You’re hiding something.”

Gilwyn shrugged. “White-Eye’s with child,” he said. Then he laughed. “I’m going to be a father!”

This was news I didn’t expect. Gilwyn had married White-Eye less than a year ago, not long after the war with Ganjor. Suddenly, I felt angry at myself for having gone away.

“Ah, good work!” I crowed. “When did you find out?”

“Just before you left. White-Eye wanted to be sure.”

“What do you call a little Kahan? A Kahanette?”

“Or a Kahanarina,” joked Gilwyn. “If it’s a girl.”

“Where’s White-Eye?” I said, getting out of my chair. “I have to see her.”

“Who knows?” Gilwyn shrugged. “I’ve been up here all day going through petitions. They still come in, new ones every day.” The joy in his face went away. “Just sit, okay?”

It’s easy to know when something’s on Gilwyn’s mind. His eyes sort of dance all over your face without really looking. He glanced at my sword, and that’s when I noticed the Eye of God around his neck, bulging out from under his shirt. Both of us were immortal now, or very nearly so. I had tried to die a dozen times since finding the sword, and the amulet Gilwyn wore had once been mine as well. I had cursed him with it just to save his life. It had stopped his aging, mostly, but not the havoc of worry. Since Minikin’s death he wasn’t only the Kahan of Jador—he was also Master of Grimhold now.

Gilwyn leaned back, bracing me for what was coming. “Twenty-nine days.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “But you knew I’d be back.”

“That’s the longest you’ve ever stayed away.”

“You’re already sounding like a father, Gilwyn. I’m fine. Look at me.”

“I am looking, Lukien. When was the last time you ate anything? Besides snake meat, I mean? Maybe that’s how you plan to kill yourself—starvation.”

“Whoa,” I said, surprised. “Being a ruler has made you bold, Gilwyn. I’m a big boy, all right? Let’s talk about the baby.”

He shook his head. “I want to know what’s going on with you. You said you were okay with keeping the sword. But all you’ve done since you found it is try to find new ways to hurt yourself. And you’re never here more than a couple of weeks at a time.”

I got up and headed for the window. “You’re as bad as Malator. I thought you’d give me a day at least before badgering me.” I looked over the city, then beyond it to the desert. I had just returned from there and already I wanted to go back. “Fate above, I’m out of my mind with boredom,” I confessed.

“You’re restless,” said Gilwyn.

He sounded like a physician. I turned and gestured to all the books and papers tumbling off his desk.

“Look at all this stuff you have to keep you busy,” I said. “Good thing you have the amulet—you’ll need eternity just to get through all these letters! The Inhumans need you, the refugees need you . . . but none of them need me. Jador doesn’t need Shalafein anymore. Who am I protecting us from?”

“Lukien,” said Gilwyn calmly, “you’re absolutely right.”

I stopped raving. “I am?”

“The baby isn’t the only news I wanted to tell you, Lukien. I’ve been talking with White-Eye. She agrees with me.” Gilwyn stood up and leaned on the edge of his desk. “It’s time you left Jador.”

That staggered me. “You
want
me to go?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about it, all those things you said. It’s all true. Ganjor isn’t a threat any more, and there’s only a trickle of Seekers coming to the city now. Malator’s right, Lukien—you’re powerful. You can do a lot more good somewhere else.”

“You want me to leave,” I said again. I was almost struck dumb. No one likes to be told they’re not wanted, and even though I knew that’s not what Gilwyn meant it still hurt a little. “I’m pledged to White-Eye,” I argued. “And to Jador. It’s not something I can just walk away from you know.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” said Gilwyn. He shuffled over to my leather bag and poked it curiously with his cane. “You could be a knight-errant.”

“What, a mercenary?” I’d already been one of those and lost my eye in the bargain. “Forget it.”

Gilwyn looked annoyed. “Didn’t you read stories growing up? A knight-errant isn’t a mercenary. He’s like a champion. He goes from place to place looking for people to help. You know, in the name of someone, like a lady or a queen. You could do it in the name of Jador. That way you’d still be Shalafein. You’d still be keeping your vow.”

“That’s crazy,” I scoffed. I didn’t want to admit it appealed to me. “I’m just supposed to wander around like some tramp?”

“No, Lukien,” said Gilwyn sharply. “That’s what you have been doing. Clean yourself up, give your life some purpose. You’re like a caged animal here in Jador. This is a chance to find out what Malator means about your future.”

He’d already thought it through, tying up his argument in a neat little bundle. Just the thought of leaving Jador was dreamy. I was glad when he looked at my bag again, trying to see inside it.

“What is that?” he asked, lifting it partially with the tip of his cane and squinting inside.

“Go ahead, look.”

“I don’t trust you,” said Gilwyn. “Probably a bag of scorpions or . . .”

His eyes went wide when he saw the prize I’d brought back. He set aside his cane and opened the bag, pulling out the snake skin. Twice as wide as Gilwyn, he held it up like a sheet. The scarlet patterns of the rass’s hood looked fiery in the sunlight.

“You did this yourself?” he asked.

“Like pulling off a sock. Scaled it, too. Feel how smooth.”

The skin was as supple as the leather bag and hadn’t even been tanned yet. I’d left most of it behind of course, but had carefully removed the most interesting part, the best part—the rass’s giant hood.

“Beautiful,” said Gilwyn. “But what am I supposed to do with it?”

“It’s not for you,” I told him. “It’s for Cricket.”

“Oh.” Gilwyn looked relieved and handed the skin back to me. “So what’ll she do with it?”

“I thought we’d make a cape for her. More than big enough for that.” I smiled as I tucked the skin back into the bag, knowing she would love it. I was always bringing things back from the desert for Cricket. Trinkets usually brightened her mood.

“Good,” pronounced Gilwyn as he dropped into his chair again. “It’ll give her something to do. Maybe she’ll stop stealing chickens.”

“What?”

“She stole a chicken from the kitchen. Said she needed to set it free. Oh, and she painted one of the walls of the cistern, too. Stripes. She says it wasn’t her, but . . . come on.” Gilwyn gave a big sigh and looked at me. “She misses Minikin. It gets worse when you go away.”

I wasn’t sure what he expected me to do about it. I knew Cricket was attached to me, but she was fourteen years old and barely in control of herself. “I’ll talk to her,” I promised. “Where is she?”

“Grimhold.” Gilwyn saw my surprise. “I needed to get her out from underfoot, Lukien. She likes going there. It’s good for her.”

“No, it isn’t,” I huffed. “It reminds her of Minikin, and it depresses her.” I cinched up my bag, making to leave. “Let me go see White-Eye.”