The Forever Knight

6

Malator had been strangely quiet since we left Jador. For the first two days I felt him hovering just out of reach, like a child peeking around a corner. Within the sword I could feel his presence, stoic but solid, but by our fifth day I could barely sense him at all. He had stopped speaking to me entirely, and when I touched the sword it was almost like a normal blade at my side.

Perhaps I had been hard on Malator, and perhaps his silence was just childish payback, but I was determined that he should be my servant now and not the other way around. Akari are kind and generous with their powers, but they aren’t angels, and they aren’t selfless. They see the world from a mountain peak none of us can ever reach, but there’s one thing they forget-they need us, we poor humans. I intended to remind Malator of that.

Our fifth day in the desert was blazing hot. By noon the sun felt like fire on our hoods. The sand, which was everywhere now, blinded us as we tried to look ahead. We had already skirted south of Ganjor, making good progress east. Maybe two more days of riding and we’d be out of the desert. That alone was enough to give us confidence. With the sun mighty on our backs, I let Cricket drink her fill from our canteens. Head down, I rode without thinking.

“Lukien?”

Cricket’s voice took me out of my daydream.

“Look at that,” she said, pointing north. A caravan of drowa riders were heading east as well, their path slowly crossing our own. They were still far away, but I knew they had seen us; the gait of their hairy mounts slowed a little.

“Ganjeese,” I said.

Cricket’s voice rose. “Really? How do you know that?”

“First, because no one else would be traveling east. And look how they ride-like an arrowhead, you see?”

“Uh huh.”

“They ride like that to keep the rass away,” I said. “It doesn’t work.”

We had gone all this way without seeing another soul. We were practically knocking on the door of the Bitter Kingdoms. And now Ganjeese. My hand went fast to my sword.

“Malator? You still here?”

I don’t know why I doubted it, because Malator barreled into my mind.

Company?

“Maybe trouble, maybe not,” I said. Cricket looked at me, but she knew who I was talking to. “We can’t avoid them.”

“They’re coming this way,” said Cricket.

“Hospitality of the desert. They’ll ask if we need anything, maybe try to trade.”

“But they’re gonna know we’re from Jador.”

“No way to hide it. Keep riding,” I said, “and don’t be afraid.”

As we closed the distance I could see their expensive looking clothes, the kind of colored silks and dyed skins the wealthy of the city wore. There were four men, with a big, well-fed fellow leading them. He rode at the tip of the arrow, bouncing on his drowa with a scimitar strapped across his chest. A jet mustache glistened against his dark face. When we were finally close enough, he raised his hand in greeting.

“Aman da Vala,” he called.

The words mean ‘Vala watches us.’ Even Cricket understood, but as a girl she wasn’t supposed to return the greeting. I lifted my own hand and called back the response.

“Vala kabar shahan.”

‘The great god Vala blesses us,’ I said, and didn’t believe a word of it. I brought my horse abreast with Cricket’s pony. The big man puzzled over my accent, looking at our clothes.

“North,” he said. “You come from Ganjor?”

“From Jador,” I answered and pulled back my hood.

All of them-the big man and the younger ones behind him-fixed on my eye patch. The big man’s hand twitched like he might go for his weapon.

“A one-eyed man from Jador,” he said, effortlessly using my own language. Instead of reaching for his scimitar he twirled his oiled mustache. “You are like I see when I have dreams of you, Bronze Knight of Liiria.”

We’d all stopped dead in front of each other, and no one moved an inch closer. “Do you know me, azizi?” I asked, using the Ganjeese word for friend. Cricket was so quiet next to me that I thought she’d stopped breathing.

“The desert is too hot for games,” said the big man. “I am Sariyah of Ganjor, and these are my sons. .” He gestured to the others. “And you are Lukien of Liiria. How many sons do you see, please?”

His question startled me. “I see three sons.”

Sariyah nodded. “You see three sons. You do not see a fourth son because my fourth son is dead. Killed by Jadori.”

Sariyah looked at me without flinching. I tried to read his face but couldn’t.

“Your son was a warrior for Baralosus,” I guessed. “A lot of men died that day. Many azizi. Many Jadori.”

Sariyah leaned over and spat into the sand to his right. “Baralosus is a pig.”

“We agree.” Quickly I offered him honors. “The warriors of Ganjor were brave that day. I am told they died like heroes. In Jador we grieve all your sons.”

Sariyah’s dark face softened. He turned to his sons and ordered them to reveal their faces, a sign of respect. All shared their father’s sharp, handsome nose, especially the youngest one, who looked barely Cricket’s age.

“Many in Ganjor blame you for that battle, Shalafein,” said Sariyah. He wasn’t at all afraid, though he clearly knew my reputation. “But I am wiser.”

“I was far away from that battle,” I said.

“And now you are far from Jador again.”

He looked inquisitive, too polite to ask directly what was on his mind.

“We go east,” I told him. I turned to Cricket. “It’s all right. Show yourself.”

She pulled back her hood, shaking out her brown hair to the astonishment of the Ganjeese. Sariyah’s mouth fell open, but he closed it quickly, inclining his head. His sons just stared.

“We go east, too,” said Sariyah. “To Zura for spices.”

“Our business is in Akyre,” I replied.

Sariyah hid his surprise poorly but said, “We have bread to share and good drink from Ganjor. And I have heard you are talented at killing rass, Bronze Knight. We can ride together as far as Arad. Is it a bargain?”

Cricket glanced a warning at me, but Sariyah was right-it was too hot for games.

“We welcome the company,” I told Sariyah. In Ganjeese, I said, “Our water is yours.”

* * *

We ate and drank with Sariyah and his sons, spending the hottest part of the day beneath a tent while trading stories about the desert. Sariyah was good at telling stories. Cricket and I both relaxed quickly around him. He told us about sleeping in the sand with scorpions and how to pit stone fruit with your teeth and how the stars and moon follow him when he rides at night but not the others with him. He told us about Ganjor and about the wife and daughters waiting for him there, and how his spice business had grown, so that now he and his family had everything they needed. And like a true man of the desert, he asked few questions, careful to walk the thin line between his code and curiosity.

I learned quickly that Sariyah wasn’t a man to be feared, though he did look fearsome to me. He kept his scimitar as close to him as I kept my sword, and he was at least as tall as me and probably twice as heavy. They talk in the desert about men who are lions, and Sariyah was surely one of them. His voice was a quiet roar, his manners commanding. His sons didn’t just respect him but, rather, did his bidding with something like reverence. Even Cricket warmed to him, laughing at his tales. In Ganjor a girl her age had almost no rights at all, and yet Sariyah and his sons treated her with respect.

I didn’t want our time beneath the tent to end, but the day was still young and we had many miles left to go.

* * *

We rode into the desert night, refreshed by the cool air and the brightest moon I’d ever seen.

“You see?” Sariyah laughed as it he pointed at the sky. “It follows me!”

We all followed Sariyah, even me, riding beside him at the front of our arrowhead. Cricket rode a few paces back, while Sariyah’s youngest son, Asadel, eyed her the way boys that age naturally do. Cricket blushed at the attention but not enough to say she minded it, and that’s when I realized I didn’t have a girl with me, but a young woman. Sariyah glanced at them, then leaned over and spoke to me softly.

“I have three daughters,” he whispered. “Never would I bring one to the Bitter Kingdoms.”

“Three daughters and three sons? You’re quite a man, Sariyah,” I joked.

Sariyah grinned. “My wife likes to be busy,” he said. But I had my opening and took it.

“What can you tell me about the Bitter Kingdoms?” I asked. “I’ve never been to that part of the world. I only know what I hear.”

“Then you should know it’s not a place to take a girl. The kings there are lawless. They do nothing but fight and kill. I would not be going myself if there was a better way to Zura.” Sariyah looked down at his big knuckles. “I wonder if this trip will be my last.”

“If it’s so dangerous why are you going?”

“Because that’s where the spices are, Lukien. Your world lives on spices! They are like gold. Many men get rich sending spices to the continent. If Vala wills it, I will be one of them.” Sariyah’s smile filled his face. “My sons have families to feed. We are together in this. One day we will be rich. Like Anton Fallon.”

“Fallon? I know that name.” I thought about it a moment, sure I’d heard of him once in Norvor. “A spice trader, right?”

“He is the prince of spices,” said Sariyah. “Anton Fallon is the most powerful man in the Bitter Kingdoms. And not a drop of royal blood! They say he has a palace as big as a sea. The most beautiful women in the world serve him.” He wagged a finger in the air. “Spices, Lukien.”

“And you want to be like that? Wealthy?”

“I will be like that,” Sariyah declared. “Anton Fallon is just a man like me. Two hands and a brain is all any man needs. If he has the will of Vala.”

I tried to smile, but to me Vala was a superstition, just like the Fate I’d grown up with in Liiria.

“Lukien, ride with me,” said Sariyah. He urged his drowa on more quickly, breaking away from the rest of us. I looked back at Cricket, who looked puzzled.

“It’s just to talk,” I assured her, spurring my horse to catch up with Sariyah. Sariyah did not speak until he was sure no one could hear us.

“Don’t go to Akyre, Lukien,” he said. “Nothing good there. Only trouble. I cannot speak these things in front of the girl.” His voice dropped lower. “There is death magic in Akyre.”

Now that was a phrase I’d never heard before. I sidled closer to him. “Tell me.”

“Do they talk about Diriel in Jador?”

I shook my head.

“Diriel is King in Akyre. Calls himself Emperor now, of all the Bitter Kingdoms. An army of dead men serve him. Men without souls.”

“Dead men?” I must have grinned, because Sariyah looked annoyed. “You’ve seen them?” I asked.

“No. And Vala willing I will not. I will ride straight to Zura with my sons, far from Akyre. You must do the same, Lukien. Whatever you seek in Akyre cannot be so important.”

“It’s more important than wealth, Sariyah, and yet you’ll risk yourself for that.”

“You do not believe me?” asked Sariyah. “Men I trust have told me this, Lukien. Diriel commands death itself. His army without souls marches.”

I was glad Cricket couldn’t hear us. “Sariyah,” I said, “I’m not going to turn around because of some stories. You say you’ve heard about me. If so, you know what I can do. If there’s trouble in Akyre, I can handle it.”

Sariyah looked down at my sword. “It is enchanted?”

“It has. . power.”

“A spirit?”

I nodded. “An Akari. An ancient being, like a ghost.”

Sariyah frowned. “Like death.”

I thought about that a moment. Then I thought about that picture Malator drew in the sand. Death was following me, and I didn’t know why.

Or maybe I was riding toward it.

“I’m not a superstitious man, Sariyah,” I said. “I’ve seen a lot of things that make little sense. If you tell me there’s an army of dead people waiting for me in Akyre, I believe you. One thing, though-maybe someone should warn them about what’s coming, too.”