The Forever Knight

33

I slept past the morning, through breakfast, almost till noontime. No one dared to wake me, but when my eyes snapped open Malator was still in my room, bathed in the bright light of the sun pouring through my window. At the foot of my bed sat the chest holding my bronze armor, its lid open wide, its contents gleaming. Malator was stone-faced. My body roiled with an energy I’d never known. I remembered the dream I’d had, the promise he had made me. I flexed my fingers to test their strength and knew I could crush a rock with them.

“Rise,” commanded Malator.

I did as he said, standing before him in his own resplendent, spiked Akari armor, my feet naked on the carpet.

“A squire needs to help you prepare,” he said. “Since you have lost yours, I will dress you.”

I didn’t ask what time it was. Malator’s manner told me everything was ready. My chamber was quiet, but outside in the courtyard I could hear the commotion of men riding forth, joining the ranks of their battle-ready brethren. The day had started, but not the war. Not without me. I held up my arms and let Malator pull my old shirt over my head. Next came the trousers, and when I was naked he turned silently to my fresh garments, waiting for me near my newborn armor. He dressed me like a father would; I could feel the warmth of his pride. He seemed hardly a spirit at all, so real that I could touch him, and for the first time, probably the first time ever, I wanted to embrace him and thank him for his gifts.

But I did not. I was a warrior now, and no thoughts of love could sway me. I wanted no tenderness in me today, no humanity to stay my sword. Some men pray before a battle, but I was never one of those. I had no gods. But if I could have found a patron devil, I would have prayed to have my mercy stripped away, to turn me to stone. In that moment I saw what I had ever been, what I would always be-a fighting man.

Slowly, lovingly, Malator encased me in bronze. Not a word passed between us. We shared a single mind now. His thoughts were as open to me as the sea. I felt his placid calm, he felt my boundless vengeance. One by one he closed the bindings on my legs and arms, taking his time with the ritual. When I held out my hands, he slipped my fingers into my golden gauntlets. The sunlight bounced off me like a kaleidoscope, splashing prisms of color across the walls. Malator stepped back to eye his work and finally allowed himself to smile.

“Your helmet,” he said, then stooped to hand it to me. I put the golden helm in the crux of my arm.

“Your sword.”

Malator reached for my battered, blood-stained blade. In his fist he held it out for me, and my own fist closed around it. Together we held it, sharing its power, our eyes seeing straight into each others’ minds.

“This is the Sword of Angels,” whispered Malator. “It lay dormant for years until you found it. And I slept within it, alone and lonely until you came for me, Lukien.”

His confession surprised me. “If it’s a debt you feel you owe me, Malator,” I said, “you’ve already repaid it.”

“Not quite yet,” said Malator. “But I will. On the other side of this day.”

I said nothing, just let him speak his riddle. All I wanted from Malator was the strength to have my revenge, and he’d already given me that. He let go of the sword, his hand disappearing as his fingers uncoiled, and soon his whole arm was gone, and then his whole body. But I wasn’t alone in the room. He was with me, inside the sword and inside my entire being. So I belted the sword around my waist and went to find Marilius.

* * *

I found Marilius in the courtyard of the palace, waiting for me. Nearby, surrounded by mercenaries, was Anton, speaking frantically, waving his arms about, pointing at different areas of his city. The courtyard was filled with soldiers and horses, all of them ready to march through the gates.

Three men stood apart from the crowd, watching me as I emerged. Sariyah, Chuluun, and Kiryk were dressed for battle, each in the garb of their varied lands, each of their horses decorated differently. The buzz in the yard quieted as I entered, the heads turning to see me in my resplendent armor. Even Anton quit his ranting. He turned to face me, his eyebrows shooting up in wonder. The sun was high above my head, and the anxious faces of the soldiers told me they’d been waiting long for my arrival. I stopped myself a few paces into the yard and looked at them.

“I slept,” I declared. “But no ordinary sleep. I will make your wait worth it.”

Even my voice sounded different, not just from the bronze helm but from the magic coursing through me. The men nodded and looked toward their leaders, my unlikely generals. Young Kiryk, King of the Drinmen, clenched a fist at his side, Chuluun bowed his dark head, and Sariyah took a single, silent step forward. Marilius called out to his mercenaries.

“To your places!” he cried, and the mercenaries in the yard broke rank, riding for the gate. Kiryk gave the order too, and then Chuluun, and the Drinmen and Bogati rode forth, kicking up dust as they rode for Sklar Valley. Only a handful of men and horses remained behind, including Venger, who’d been prepared for me with armor the color of my own and Bogati ribbons in his jet mane. Another gift from Anton, I supposed. He smiled when I noticed it, but I could tell he was terrified of the battle ahead.

“Anton,” I said, “you’ll stay here in Isowon, but not out in the open like this. Guard yourself inside. Diriel might have assassins come for you.”

“I’ll be protected,” said Anton, gesturing at the ring of mercs who’d stayed behind. “Lukien, before you go, I want to know about the monster.”

I shook my head. “I can’t. Just trust me on this one.”

Anton pointed at his forehead. “I’m the one that bears the mark! It’s not Diriel’s assassins I’m worried about. If I stay behind, these few men can’t help me against Crezil.”

“But you’re not going to run,” I said. I went to Venger and patted his side, glad to see my beautiful horse. “Thank you for this,” I told Anton. “I’ll ride him with me to the battle, but I’ll need another horse for the fight.”

“Another?” asked Marilius. “Why?”

“Any good warhorse will do,” I said. “Venger will stay in the rear until I need him.” I waved at Sariyah and the others. “Gather,” I said.

They huddled around me, Sariyah jealously taking my right, Chuluun my left. Kiryk stood slightly apart from the rest, attentive nevertheless. I looked at Marilius.

“You’re not a captain anymore,” I told him. “None of you are. You’re all generals now. Congratulations.”

Chuluun smirked. “Is that good?”

“It means you’re a leader,” Kiryk explained.

“That’s right,” I said. “Each of you will report to me directly. And each of you is in charge of your men, like we planned. Marilius, is everything in place?”

“Just as we planned,” he said. “Diriel’s waiting. I sent him a messenger two hours ago like you asked. He’s expecting you.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to fight,” said Anton. “He could have attacked by now but hasn’t.”

“Don’t hope that, Fallon,” warned Kiryk. “Don’t even think it. Diriel lives to destroy. He’s just savoring Isowon like a good meal.”

“Everything he wants is here,” I agreed. “Except for one thing.”

“Crezil,” said Marilius. “That’s why he’s waiting for Lukien. And since I don’t see Crezil anywhere. .”

“Just buying time,” I said. “That’s all it ever was. Just a ploy. What about that horse?”

Marilius called to one of the remaining mercenaries. “Bring him another.” He turned back to me peevishly. “We can’t really spare horses this way, Lukien. Most of the men are already on foot. Venger’s perfectly suited for fighting. What’s the problem?”

Kiryk cleared his throat. “I should go. My men are waiting.”

Chuluun turned to his brother, Nalinbaatar, who was holding his horse. “We will see you on the field, Lukien.”

I turned to Sariyah. “What about you?”

“I will not leave your side,” said Sariyah. “To protect you.”

“Protect me? You might have that backwards, my friend.”

Sariyah replied, “You are our only hope, Lukien. If you fall we all will surely lose. Consider me like your shadow-inseparable.” He went to his horse, a burly beast with two battleaxes tied to its haunches, one on each side. On any other day one would be enough, but Sariyah meant to take many heads. He mounted up and followed Kiryk and the Bogati to the courtyard gate, where he waited for me while the others trotted off. The man Marilius had dispatched returned with another horse for me, not nearly as splendid or well-armed as Venger. He handed the reins to me almost apologetically.

“The best I could find,” he said.

“Good enough. Now, protect your master Fallon. Don’t be tempted to ride out to join us. Whatever happens, you make sure your master lives.”

The mercenary nodded, mostly because he remembered my threat to kill any of them who abandoned Isowon. “Good luck to you, Sir Lukien.”

“Anton.” I turned to the man who’d brought me here to slay his unbeatable monster. He looked pale, and I could see a trace of some unknown spice staining the flesh beneath his nose. “No more of that false courage,” I said. “You’re stronger than you think. You stayed alive this long, after all.”

His eyes flicked toward Marilius. “Bring him home safe,” he whispered to me.

Marilius shifted. “Anton. .”

“Don’t be embarrassed by your love,” I said. “Remember what I told you, Marilius? There’s no shame in loving each other.” I turned to Sariyah and said, “Ride ahead for me.”

“I will not leave you, Lukien.”

“Just to the edge of the city. I need to speak with Marilius.”

He agreed grudgingly, and when he was far enough ahead I called to Marilius, “Come along. It’s time.”

He hurried to his horse and sped the beast to where I was waiting. Anton gathered his bodyguards and disappeared into the palace. Suddenly the yard was deserted. The street ahead was nearly empty as well. I could see Sariyah trotting through Isowon, looking forlorn among the fountains and hanging gardens, and ahead of him rode Kiryk and Chuluun. It was a fair distance to Sklar Valley, but the time it took to get there would be the last peace we’d know for days. My plain brown horse clip-clopped down the street. Marilius checked his gear as we rode.

“You look anxious,” I said. “Are you?”

“Anxious. Terrified.” Marilius put his hand on his sword. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You checked your sword already. Leave it. Remember what I told you when we faced Crezil-when the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

“This isn’t like that, though.”

“No,” I agreed. “It’s much worse than that.”

Marilius laughed nervously. “How come you’re not afraid, then?”

I thought for a moment. I searched myself for fear. Maybe it was because I had no soul. Or maybe I wanted to die. “You’re right. I’m not afraid,” I said. “But I wish I could be. The only fearless people I’ve ever known have all been madmen. Maybe I’m one of them now.”

“Maybe it’ll come back when this is over,” said Marilius.

“What? My soul?” I shook my head. “That’s gone for good.”

“Your sanity, then. Maybe when you finally get home, it’ll be there waiting for you.”

I smiled beneath my bronze helmet. “I like that. I’ll remember it.”

“Why are you bringing two horses, Lukien?” asked Marilius. “I know you don’t have much luck keeping them alive, but still. .”

“I have a plan. Don’t ask me to tell you what it is, because I won’t.”

“You’re asking all of us to trust you, but you don’t trust us. I have to say, I’m not inspired.”

“Marilius, if this is going to work you need to stop thinking so much. Worry less about what I’m doing out there and more about what you’re doing. Use your wits to keep your men alive, not to untangle my motives.”

“All right,” he grunted. “But I’m going with you when you ride out to see Diriel.”

“I want you all there,” I said. “Kiryk, Chuluun, and Sariyah too. I want the Akyrens to see what they’re up against.”

“Why? Diriel won’t care. He already knows.”

“Fuck Diriel. I want his men to see us.”

* * *

A horde.

That’s what I saw when I reached the battlefield.

Horses and dogs. Archers and infantry. Dirty conscripts, dead-eyed Akyrens, pikes pointed skyward, flaccid banners of a ruined country. Eager, soaring buzzards. A vast, badly stitched quilt of legionnaires and starved slaves, of Drinmen and Kassens in chains, of swords and hammers, of wagons, of war sleds, of terror and disillusionment. Bringers of death. Bringers of worse than death. Made whole by the whips of madmen, and a king on a chariot adorned with peacock feathers.

From a berm in the sand I watched with the wind in my face. Diriel had rolled out from his horde when he saw me on the hill. He drove his chariot through his front line of dogs and conscripts. My own men-my four tiny armies-waited in perfect formation, facing the black wave from Akyre. In front were Marilius’s mercenaries, lined up in three tight rows of infantry and horsemen. Kiryk and his Silver Dragons held the north flank, bolstered by other Drinmen who’d heard the call. A contingent of Zurans and Bogati horsemen secured the south flank to my left, not really under the command of anyone. There was no way to hold them back, I knew, so I’d given them no orders at all. Once the fighting started, they’d fly into battle.

We were outnumbered in every way I’d feared, except for horses, where we had the advantage. We were also better rested and better fed. But we were half as many as our enemies. Even with all our horses and all our axes, I still didn’t know how we’d take so many heads. The conscripts posed no threat at all. But the legionnaires. .

I spied them from the berm, counting and sizing them up. There were at least as many as I’d seen at Diriel’s castle. They wore collars now to protect their necks, thick leather bands they’d started using after their brief war with Drin. I knew they wouldn’t stop the Sword of Angels, but I worried about the battle-axes. Sariyah, who sat next to me upon his horse, rested his big axe on his shoulder and scanned the field for Asadel. Chuluun galloped out from the Bogati, and Marilius called up from the bottom of the berm.

“That’s Diriel,” he said, pointing at the approaching chariot.

“I see him,” I replied, then guided my nameless horse slowly down the sandhill, leaving Venger in the care of a young servant boy. His name was Cern, and he promised to protect Venger with his life. It was the kind of loyalty I didn’t expect from one of Isowon’s puffy young men. I believed him enough to trust him, and he’d be far enough from the fighting to keep himself alive.

I reached the bottom of the berm-my sandy command post-and didn’t say a word as Chuluun and Marilius wheeled their horses to flank me. Sariyah came after me, equally silent, and as we trotted forward, Kiryk broke away from his men to join us. Our troops watched silently as we rode out together toward Diriel, whose own contingent gathered around his chariot. We had agreed to meet in the spot between our facing armies. Amazingly, Diriel had brought Grecht, the midget from his castle, the one who’d greeted me and Cricket at the bridge. He bounced out in front of Diriel’s chariot like a weird little herald, carrying an already tattered flag and, I think, whistling.

“Who is that?” whispered Chuluun when he saw Grecht. He rode slowly at my side, scimitar sheathed, unable to take his eyes off the midget.

“If only they were all that size!” said Kiryk.

I took the point, letting the others fan out behind me, matching Diriel’s deliberate speed. Four legionnaires came with him on horseback, the only four with perfect uniforms, I supposed, each of them pale and expressionless. And, as I’d hoped, Wrestler was with them. His bald head caught my eye at once, gleaming and helmetless, with a sword at his side and his loose black clothes draping his uncanny body. He smiled, a grin I felt more than saw, a laughing, contemptuous leer aimed right at me. He almost looked like he’d grown since our fight, his arms more apelike, his chest even more like a beer keg. Finally, I’d be close enough to kill him.

At last Diriel’s chariot came to a stop, and the king himself dropped the reins of his twin horses and stepped down on the battlefield. Grecht performed what looked like a curtsy, then stepped aside for Diriel to pass. I jerked my horse to a halt just a few paces in front of him. His legionnaires remained in the rear, but Wrestler rode up to protect him. Diriel’s vulnerability was meant to calm me, I knew, but I couldn’t help thinking how stupid he was. He held apart his empty hands in greeting.

“Why don’t I see the creature with you?” he asked.

“It’s sleeping,” I replied.

“I’ve waited, Lukien. You promised to bring it to me.”

“If you believed that, you’re even dumber than I thought.” I glanced at Wrestler and said, “Get yourself an advisor with some brains, Diriel. Maybe you’d make better decisions.”

“I see you brought your sword this time,” taunted Wrestler. He pushed back his robe to reveal his own. “I’ll toss mine away if you want to go again, Liirian. I’d love the chance to snap your neck again.”

“Not just my neck.” I pointed at my eye. “See? Magic.”

“Then take a good look, Sir Lukien,” advised Diriel. “You’re outnumbered. Even you can’t beat all of them. Does Anton Fallon know you’re throwing his life away?”

“Anton Fallon has a message for you,” chimed Marilius. “Isowon is his. He built it, he rules it, and he’s not given it over to you. Lukien speaks for us all. If you want Anton, you’ll have to kill us all first.”

Diriel looked up at Marilius, flashing his sharpened teeth. “Why doom yourself, boy? Run back and tell your master I’ll spare him if he surrenders to me. But I want the monster, too. I want what was agreed upon.”

I laughed in his face. “Idiot. The monster was never going to be yours. I told you that to buy us time, to build this army!” I leaned over my horse to look at him. “If you want the monster, go get it!”

“Where is it?” demanded Wrestler.

“In its lair,” I said. “In the crypts of the old Akyren kings.” I heard Marilius shift with surprise at my admission. “That’s where the mummy powder came from, Diriel-from your dead ancestors! Anton Fallon dug up your mothers and fathers. He ground them into dust and let you feed them to your men!” I took great glee in my taunt, and in the shock on Diriel’s face. “He played you like a fool, and you know why? Because you are one! Did you really think I’d ever hand over a weapon like Crezil to you? Are you so deluded to believe I’d let you take control of it? Crezil belongs to me!”

Diriel was so unbalanced by his rage he could barely speak. His eyelids fluttered and his fingers clenched, and he looked up at Marilius and seethed, “Imagine the worst death you can for yourself, boy. I will flay you. I will boil you for what your master has done!”

“You’ll do nothing,” I spat. “Because you’ll be dead. And then Crezil will be mine. Anton Fallon will take over Akyre, and together we’ll drink beer until our bladders are bursting and piss on the graves of your ancestors. But they’ll be empty, because Anton dug them up and turned them into fairy dust.”

Truly, I thought Wrestler’s bald head would explode.

“Death!” he screamed, his hand flying to his sword. “Sweet Diriel, let me kill this foreign pig,” he pleaded. “Let me pull out his intestines, I beg you!”

“Then I’ll just come back,” I sneered. “An eye, a neck-haven’t you figured it out yet? I am forever! And you, you demented child raper-you’ll be dangling at the end of my sword soon.”

Wrestler was about to pull his blade. Chuluun nearly pulled his own. But Diriel wasn’t stupid enough to end things yet. He regained his composure, ignoring everyone but me.

“One more chance,” he warned. “Behold, Sir!” He swept his arm toward his warriors. “Think. The monster and Anton Fallon, and you ride back to Liiria with everything you had.”

“Not everything,” I said.

Wrestler took my meaning. “No, not everything,” he agreed. He licked his lips. “Not your pretty squire. She fought a little with her little girl fists, but she loved me on top of her. I showed her some of my best wrestling holds.”

“Demon,” hissed Sariyah. “She was a child.”

“She was candy,” crooned Wrestler.

I could barely keep myself together. I could have-should have-leapt off my horse and torn his throat out. But I remembered why I’d come, and somehow steeled myself. Behind Diriel waited his army, with the dogs and conscripts at the front. The conscripts seemed little more than slaves, starved-looking and in rags, poorly armed with whatever throw-away weapons the real Akyrens didn’t want. There were hundreds of them, too, some still in the chains that had dragged them to battle. The only expression on their gaunt faces was dread. I spurred my horse away from my men, past Diriel and knocking past Wrestler.

“Hear me!” I cried to the conscripts. “We are free men in Isowon! We do not bow to evil! Be free and join us!”

Sariyah hurried to my side. The legionnaires surrounded us both. Diriel laughed.

“They won’t join you,” he said. “I have broken them. They’re mine.”

“They will join us,” I answered. “When they see your heads rolling in the sand, they will.”

I could see Kiryk’s hand twitching on his sword and Chuluun was just dying to fight. I turned one more time toward the horde, raising up a defiant fist toward his enslaved soldiers.

“Watch how free people fight!” I cried. “Watch and grow strong!”

Diriel made his way back to his chariot, waving off his legionnaires. “Sir Lukien,” he said, “you should never have come here.”

“On that, we agree,” I replied. “If you have a devil, Diriel, make your peace with him. By tomorrow you’ll be in hell.”

Then I spat onto the ground between us, spun my horse around, and led my men back toward our army, turning my back on Wrestler and his king in one final act of contempt. I didn’t look back-I pretended not to care. I just kept on riding as Marilius caught up to me.

“Lukien!” he said insistently. “Why’d you do that? Why’d you tell Diriel about the mummy powder?”

“To kick a hornet’s nest,” I said. “Why do you think?”