The Devil's armour

29

Four days after leaving Dreel, Lorn and the Believers arrived at last in Ganjor. It was a welcome event to all of them, and the city’s magnificence sent Lorn’s senses soaring. In Norvor, it was well known that Ganjor was a peerless metropolis, a grand stew of cultures both north and south and a crossroads of commerce. Lorn had seen drawings of it in books. Still, he was ill-prepared for the greatness of the place, dotted with minarets and backed by a gleaming desert of white sand that made all the colours of Ganjor come alive like wet paint. Streets teeming with merchants and peasants and livestock criss-crossed like a game board, while high above the frenzy rose temple spires and great, ivory towers. Ancient city walls of ruddy clay stood as high as houses in places, or lay broken in crumbling mounds in other spots, baked raw by a sun that never seemed to darken. Horses and oxen and donkeys milled along the avenues, the burdened beasts of great trains of traders, their wagons filled with wares to sell in Ganjor’s bazaars. And with these creatures were other beasts, magnificent mythological-looking reptiles ridden by men in flowing robes. As Lorn’s desperate caravan entered the city, he and the others gaped at the monsters.

‘What in all the hells is that?’ asked Garthel. His rheumy eyes stared at the beast as he rode beside Bezarak in the lead wagon.

‘What?’ asked the young blind man at once. Quickly he swivelled his head to take in every strange sound. ‘What are you seeing?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Lorn. As usual he was walking, guiding their donkey by its bridle. The reptile and its rider were a good distance away. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘It’s a lizard,’ said Eiriann. ‘They ride lizards here?’

Garthel shrugged. ‘I suppose. You see, daughter? There’s magic here, and we’re not even in Mount Believer yet.’

Lorn and the rest of them slackened their pace, too stunned by the city’s sights to pass them up quickly. Seeing the man on the lizard gave him some hope, for it was an unimaginably strange sight — the kind of thing one might indeed call magic. It seemed there were men of every race here, some dressed in familiar northern garb, others in the flowing robes of the desert kingdoms. And then there were the women, too easy to recognise in their strange, all-covering gowns, their faces barely visible as they walked the sandy thoroughfares. The sight of them made Eiriann wince, and from her place in the wagon she gave Lorn a disapproving scowl.

‘Is that what it’s like for women in Norvor?’ she asked.

Lorn hesitated. He knew nothing of Ganjor, or its customs toward women. ‘The ladies of Norvor aren’t slaves, no matter what you might have heard.’

‘But there’s a proper place for them in Norvor, is that not so?’ Eiriann looked around the streets in disgust. ‘I hope Mount Believer is better than this place.’

To Lorn, the status of the Ganjeese women mattered little. He hadn’t come to free them or argue over customs, and he already thought Ganjor a good bit better than Dreel, with its decaying stink and outrageous tolls. He and his companions had paid nothing at all to enter Ganjor, riding through one of the many holes in the city walls with barely a glance. Nor had they encountered any towns on the rest of the way south, or spent any of the coins Lorn had stolen from Duke Erlik. That meant they had money enough to buy shelter for the night — maybe more than one night — and the thought of soft beds had them all wearing smiles.

Admittedly, though, Lorn didn’t know where to go. He was not only a stranger in Ganjor, but Ganjor itself was strange, and he saw nothing as familiar as an inn or boarding house. The Ganjeese architecture looked wholly unlike the structures up north. The buildings were rounder here, softer, with gently sweeping curves and archways and complicated roofs made of limestone slabs set at impossible angles. Worse, any writing over the doors was in Ganjeese, a peculiar alphabet of slashes and dots. Feeling lost, Lorn looked about for anything helpful. Since there were other northerners in the city, he decided he’d better ask for assistance. Still, his close call in Dreel made him circumspect. Just how far had word of his journey reached? Jazana Carr might have assassins of her own after him now.

‘We need to find a place to rest,’ he told his group. ‘At least get out of this sun.’

Garthel wiped a hand over his wrinkled brow. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, looking, like the rest of the Believers, completely depleted from the journey.

Lorn surveyed the busy street. Like a mirage from the desert, a man headed toward them, beelining for their caravan amid the crowds of people. Lorn stared at him, unsure why he was approaching and paranoid about his motives. He was clearly Ganjeese, with dark skin like tanned leather and white robes that covered his entire body. Even his head was wrapped in cloth, but his face was clearly visible, punctuated with a sharp, black beard. Neither young nor old, Lorn couldn’t gauge the man’s age, but his purposeful stride filled him with caution.

‘Everyone, look,’ he warned, gesturing toward the man with his chin. ‘Be on guard.’

Unlike the soldiers who’d come to them in Dreel, this stranger seemed unarmed. He came at them furtively, too, occasionally looking over his shoulder. His dark eyes darted about as if he feared being followed. Everything about his manner told Lorn he was no assassin. Still, the old king was vigilant.

‘Greetings, friends,’ said the man as he approached. He put his hands together and bowed a few inches, making sure to face each of them. Though he appeared to speak their language, there was a clear accent on his tongue. ‘You are northerners, yes?’

‘I should think that was obvious,’ said Lorn tersely. He had let go of the donkey and positioned himself between the man and his companions. ‘Who are you?’

The man smiled. ‘A friend, sent by someone who means to help you.’

It was so absurd Lorn almost laughed. ‘Angels of Fate, not again. . Listen, friend, we have everything that we need. We don’t need any help, so why don’t you just leave us?’

‘Let him talk,’ said Eiriann. She studied the stranger carefully. ‘You’re a friend? Who sent you?’

‘Patience, please,’ said the man. ‘Tell me, you are Seekers?’

There was no patience in Lorn at all. He snapped, ‘We’re not Seekers, we’re Liirians. On your way, now.’

Flustered by his outburst, the stranger held up his hands. ‘No, no, please listen. You are here for Mount Believer?’

‘Mount. .?’ Lorn hesitated. ‘Who are you? Why are you asking us this?’

‘I am from someone who wants to protect you,’ the man insisted. ‘You seek Mount Believer, so you are Seekers. So it is dangerous for you here.’

‘Why is it dangerous?’ Lorn asked. ‘There are many like us here.’

‘It is dangerous,’ the man repeated.

‘Well, we’re not staying long,’ said Lorn. ‘Just a night or two. Then we’ll be on our way.’

‘To cross the Desert of Tears?’

‘Fellow, you ask too many questions,’ warned Lorn. He stepped closer to the man, who was far smaller than he. ‘So start answering some of our own. Who sent you? The ruler of this place?’

The man shook his head. ‘No, no, I cannot say. I am to bring you to a safe place.’

Lorn turned his back at once. ‘Forget it.’

‘Please,’ begged the man. He reached for Lorn. .

Lorn whirled with a shout and shoved him over, sending him tumbling into the dusty street. The stunned man lay looking up at him. People passing by took notice of the ruckus. With Lorn standing over him, the Ganjeese man put up his hands.

‘No,’ he said. ‘You make trouble at your peril.’

‘I’ve seen my share of trouble,’ Lorn growled. ‘If you want more, stand up and get it.’

The man stood and brushed the dust from his white wraps. He waited a moment for the curious to look away, then defiantly approached Lorn once again.

‘You fear me, but it is not I you should fear. I come from a friend, someone you don’t know but who means to help you.’

It was all too confusing; Lorn groaned in acquiescence. ‘All right. . go on.’

‘I cannot tell you everything,’ the man whispered, ‘but there is a place for us to talk. It is dangerous for us to speak here in the street. We will speak in privacy, yes?’

‘Where?’

‘At a shrana house, nearby.’

‘And what is a shrana house?’

The man gestured down the street. ‘There,’ he said, pointing out a pretty building of stone and bright tiles. ‘A place to drink.’

‘A tavern,’ said Lorn dryly. His memory of the Blue Ram still fresh, he hesitated. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ offered Garthel. He was careful not to use Lorn’s name. ‘So you won’t be alone.’

‘Me too,’ said the blind Bezarak.

‘Good,’ said the stranger. ‘All of you come. Things will be explained to you.’

Lorn hesitated. He didn’t trust the dark man, though he didn’t think him an assassin, either. Perhaps he had information about other assassins? A plot of Jazana Carr’s?

‘We’ll come,’ he said finally. ‘Bezarak, hold on to Garthel’s arm. Garthel, you stay close to me.’

Old Garthel agreed, thrilled with the prospect of going with Lorn. He got down off the wagon, told his daughter sternly to look after the others, then took Bezarak’s sleeve. Before they departed, Lorn took his sword from the wagon and belted it around his waist. The Ganjeese man took notice of this, but only nodded.

‘Come,’ he said, then led the three of them down the street, Lorn in the lead, Garthel and blind Bezarak close behind.

The shrana house was very near. Not very different from the buildings around it, the place had an arched doorway but no door, only a heavy curtain of beads. The smell of sweet smoke lingered on the threshold, while bearded men sat at tables just outside under the shade of an eave, tossing dice and playing cards. The stranger went to the curtains and parted them, bidding Lorn and his companions to enter. It was dark within the shrana house. Lorn’s eyes struggled to adjust. He could see other dark-skinned men about the place, some at tables, many others sitting on woven blankets across the floor. Gold oil lamps lit the chamber with feeble flames. Strange but pleasant music rose from the flutelike instrument of a man in the corner. There were no women in the shrana house; even the servants were male. And all of them wore clothes like their guide. Lorn could not spot a northerner among them.

‘Are we allowed in here?’ he asked.

‘You are welcome in this place,’ the man replied.

‘But it’s so crowded,’ Lorn remarked. ‘How can we talk privately here?’

‘Do not worry,’ said the man, then directed them toward one of the empty tables at the far end of the tavern. Stubby legs held the table only inches off the floor. There were no chairs around it, only small square pillows. ‘Sit,’ the man directed, then watched as Lorn and the others took places around the table. It took a moment for Garthel to lower his stiff body, though Bezarak sat with remarkable ease. When Lorn had taken a place he looked up at the stranger.

‘All right, now can we talk?’

‘Soon,’ said the man. ‘I will have the servers bring you drink.’

‘We’re not thirsty,’ said Lorn angrily, but it was too late. Already the man had exited into the crowd. Lorn looked around suspiciously. ‘Be wary,’ he told the others. ‘Coming here might have been a mistake.’

Garthel and young Bezarak both nodded, but could really do nothing to protect themselves. If it were a trap, it had already been sprung. A moment later a man appeared and set tiny white cups down on their table, along with a steaming urn of inky liquid. Seeing they were foreigners, the server smiled and tried to explain things.

‘Shrana,’ he said.

Garthel pointed at the urn. ‘Shrana? This?’

The servant nodded, then began to pour each of them some of the pungent drink.

‘Beer?’ Lorn asked the man hopefully.

But the servant shook his head. ‘Shrana.’

Lorn sighed and picked up his cup. ‘Shrana.’ He took a sip of the hot drink and was shocked by its peppery taste. ‘Fate alive, that’s foul,’ he gasped. ‘Don’t drink it.’

But Bezarak was already drinking, and seemingly enjoying it. ‘Hot,’ he commented. ‘But good!’

‘Good?’ Lorn pushed his cup toward the young man. ‘Then have mine.’

They sat like that for a long while, drinking or just taking in the sights of the shrana house. To Lorn’s relief, none of the other patrons had taken great interest in them. Most simply went about relaxing, drinking shrana or smoking tobacco out of water pipes. Finally, the man who had led them here reappeared. This time, though, he was not alone. Another man of Ganjor accompanied him to their table, this one oddly dressed in a combination of desert clothes and northern garb. He was dark-skinned and dark-eyed, and not at all young, but there was virtue in his face that put Lorn at ease.

‘These are the men, Kamag,’ said the man whom they’d first met. ‘The Seekers.’

Kamag — if that was his name — sat down at the table between Lorn and Garthel. The other man sat, too. As they made themselves comfortable, the one in northern dress snapped his fingers in the air, instantly summoning back the servant. After some quick words in Ganjeese the servant brought two more cups. Kamag shooed him away before he could pour, doing the honour himself.

‘You do not like our shrana,’ he said to Lorn, grinning.

‘If I were a maggot, perhaps I could drink it,’ said Lorn impatiently.

‘That is a shame. I own this place, you see.’ Kamag took a sip from his cup, sighed as if it were the most delicious stuff in the world, then looked at Lorn seriously. ‘My name is Kamag,’ he said flatly. ‘This man is named Dahj. You are?’

‘In a very ill mood,’ said Lorn.

‘And confused,’ Garthel added. ‘Why have you brought us here?’

‘As Dahj said, to help you,’ said Kamag. ‘You are looking for Mount Believer. That makes you trouble to some. We want to protect you.’

Lorn’s patience was all but depleted. ‘Protect us from what?’

‘From a man named Prince Aztar. Have you heard of him?’

Lorn shook his head.

‘Believe me, if you cross the desert now you will.’ Kamag leaned in closer, keeping his tone measured. ‘Prince Aztar is the ruler of the desert. At least that’s what he claims. And he cares very little for northerners like you. If he finds you trying to reach Jador, he will kill you.’

‘We’re not afraid,’ said Lorn. ‘We’ve already faced worse than this dog Aztar.’

‘I doubt that, my friend,’ said Kamag. ‘If we thought you were enough to best Aztar, we would let you try. Aztar has an army, ever growing. And you have. . what?’ He looked at Dahj.

‘There are thirty of them, maybe less,’ Dahj replied.

‘Thirty.’ There was mockery in Kamag’s voice. ‘Not enough to best an army, I don’t think.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Lorn protested. ‘You’re Ganjeese — why are you telling this to us?’

‘Yes, we’re Ganjeese,’ said Dahj. ‘But Aztar is not. He is Voruni.’

‘I don’t know what that means,’ said Lorn.

‘The Voruni are tribesmen of the desert,’ explained Kamag. ‘They live in the desert, make their home there. They are not part of our city. And they hate northerners, and people like me who do not hate northerners.’

‘Ah,’ said Lorn, understanding at last. ‘They think you are traitors.’

Kamag nodded. ‘To them we are infidels, no better than you. Because we do business with the northern lands, because we count your people among our friends, we are all in danger from Aztar and his army.’

‘I still don’t understand,’ said Bezarak. ‘Why are you helping us? You don’t even know us.’

‘Because we have been asked to help you,’ said Kamag. He leaned back. ‘And that is all you need to know.’

‘You are mistaken,’ said Lorn. ‘We want some answers.’

‘I cannot tell you more than I have already,’ Kamag insisted. ‘We can only warn you and offer you shelter until you are ready to head back north.’

Bezarak’s brows shot up. ‘Head back? We’re not heading back north. We’re going to Mount Believer. Right, Lorn?’

Lorn remained steely as he looked at Kamag. ‘That’s right.’ Neither Ganjeese man seemed to notice the use of his name, and Lorn no longer really cared. ‘We’ve come too far to turn back now. We’re going on, just as soon as we’ve rested.’

‘You have not heard me,’ said Kamag, his ire rising. ‘You cannot cross the Desert of Tears. Aztar and his men will kill you before you ever reach Jador.’

‘Who are you protecting really?’ asked Lorn. ‘Who really wants to keep us here?’

Kamag was tight-lipped. ‘That does not matter.’

‘Yet you expect us to trust you.’

‘For your own good, yes.’ The owner of the shrana house looked around, then lowered his voice. ‘There is another, someone you must never know, someone who wants to protect you.’

‘To protect all the Seekers,’ Dahj clarified. ‘But we cannot tell you who this person is. To do so would jeopardise her.’

‘A woman?’ Lorn nodded, impressed. ‘This mysterious benefactor — you work for her?’

‘Not directly, no,’ said Kamag. ‘We work together to keep the Seekers safe, so they are not slaughtered by Aztar, and so Aztar’s ideas do not take hold in our city. We are not all alike, we Ganjeese. We are not all like Aztar.’

Dahj added quickly, ‘Aztar is a dangerous man, and if he gains importance here our way of life will end. All of us — me, Kamag, and the woman — do not wish such change here, or to see people like you suffer at his hand.’ He looked at each of the northerners, his eyes imploring. ‘Friends, you must not cross the desert. To do so — especially now — would be your doom.’

‘At least wait before trying,’ urged Kamag. ‘Now is an extremely unsafe time.’

‘Why?’ asked Garthel.

Kamag thought before answering, and Lorn could tell he was hiding something. ‘Because Aztar’s presence in the area is strong now. He has been in Ganjor recently. He still has men here. If you do not keep out of sight, you may be in peril.’

The news further confused Lorn. For a reason he could not explain, he trusted the two strangers. There was sincerity in their faces. Garthel looked at him, wondering what they should do. Bezarak sat silently with a frown on his face.

‘We cannot wait more than a day,’ said Lorn at last. ‘We must get to Mount Believer. Too much depends on it. But we will think on what you have told us.’

Kamag’s disapproval was obvious. ‘That is a mistake,’ he warned. ‘Please, reconsider. Here you are safe, but if you attempt to cross the desert-’

‘I have heard you,’ Lorn interrupted. ‘As I said, I will consider what you’ve told us.’

The innkeeper sighed. ‘You are a very stubborn man, Liirian.’

‘I’m not Liirian,’ said Lorn suddenly. ‘I’m a Norvan, and Norvans do not frighten easily. Should this Aztar try and harm us, he will find that out for himself.’

‘He will skin you alive while you beg for your life,’ countered Kamag, ‘but if that is your insistence I cannot stop you. Have at least a care, though. There are rooms for you here. You and your companions will be safe here until you leave.’

Garthel looked questioningly at Lorn. ‘Should we?’

The difficult decision sat heavy on Lorn. Did he trust these strangers, or believe their story of a mysterious patron? Not completely, he realised, but he knew his people were bone-tired, and if there was another place in Ganjor offering them rooms he didn’t know of it.

‘All right,’ he concluded. ‘We’ll stay, but only for a night or two. And in the morning I want more answers, Kamag. If I don’t get them, we’re leaving.’

‘If you do, it will be your conscience that is tainted, not mine,’ said Kamag. ‘As for answers, I have told you all that I can.’

Lorn got up from the floor. ‘Then perhaps you have things to think over as well.’ He dug into his pocket and pulled out some of the coins he’d taken from Duke Erlik. ‘Here,’ he said, tossing them on the table. ‘We’ll pay our own way tonight. You have room for so many of us?’

‘Yes, but you’ll have to share,’ said Kamag. He took the coins, giving half to Dahj. ‘Bring your people, and whatever animals and supplies you have. They are not safe on the street.’

Kamag was good to his word. By the time Lorn and the Believers returned to the shrana house, the dark man had rooms arranged for them all. They were not luxurious chambers, but they were clean and comfortable, and the travellers appreciated them. After many days sleeping under the sky, the beds and sheets were greeted like long-lost family. There were four rooms, all of about the same size, and these were divided equally among the group, without much thought to separating the men from the women. That was a concern that had vanished a long time ago. The only worry now was that each of them had room enough to sleep and food enough to fill their stomachs. Luckily, there was an abundance of fresh food and good drink, and Lorn and his people ate until their bellies threatened to burst. And while they ate, they talked about Kamag and Dahj and the good fortune of encountering them, though none of them still knew for certain why they risked themselves so much to help others.

By nightfall, though, it no longer seemed to matter. They were pleased to be safe and sheltered, at least for a while, and only Lorn continued wondering about their predicament. He had not been honest with his comrades — he was afraid of this prince called Aztar. Not for himself, because he knew he was a survivor, but for Poppy and Eiriann and all the others. He had led this far, and he was proud of that, but was he leading them to doom now?

As he lay awake on a cot in a room he shared with six others, Lorn pondered the dark possibilities. Of all of them, only he could really fight, and if they did encounter Aztar’s army they would have no chance at all. But what if Aztar was a myth, a concoction meant to keep them here? Such a theory made no real sense, but then none of it made sense to him. Lorn fretted, unable to sleep.

Finally, long after midnight, he gave up tossing and turning and decided to go for a walk. The night air would do him good and clear his head, so he rose from his bed and as quietly as possible left the chamber without waking any of his roommates. Unsure of the time, he got clues from the silence in the shrana house and guessed it was very late indeed — or very early. The stone steps leading upstairs were empty, and from the landing looking down he could see or hear no one. Supposing it was all right to go downstairs, he descended the old steps and found himself once again in the tavern. This time, though, the place was deserted, and no one came through the beaded curtain. Even the fire in the round hearth had been extinguished, the only light coming from two gold lamps over a far table. Surprisingly, there were figures at that table, sitting on the floor as Lorn had done hours before over cups of shrana.

One of the figures was Kamag. He was talking, though very softly. The other figure shocked Lorn, for it was clearly a woman. Deciding to be part of their conversation, he loudly cleared his throat.

Both Kamag and the woman turned toward him at once. Kamag’s eyes were wide with worry, but the woman — a very young and beautiful one — seemed happily surprised.

‘Wait,’ said Kamag, standing up at once. ‘Do not come closer.’

‘No,’ said the woman. She stood as well. Her eyes met Lorn’s across the room. ‘This is the Norvan?’ When Kamag nodded she smiled. ‘I want to meet him.’ She waved Lorn into the room ‘Come ahead. We are alone here.’

Though the situation disturbed Kamag, Lorn was too curious not to accept the invitation. He approached the woman, examining her. She was Ganjeese, like Kamag, with raven hair and piercing eyes and skin like molasses, darkly shining in the lamplight. Her clothes were expensive; she was a woman of means. A brocade of scarlet silk covered her shoulders and a long gold skirt covered her legs down to her sandalled feet. Her toes wore rings, her neck green gems, and her smile warmed the chamber as she met Lorn. Not knowing how best to greet her, Lorn bowed slightly.

‘Lady,’ he said, ‘I think I owe you some thanks. Are you the one Kamag told us of? The one who seeks to protect us?’

‘I am discovered,’ said the young woman. She was barely more than a girl, but had the manners of one raised in court. ‘My name is Salina.’

‘Princess!’ gasped Kamag.

‘It is all right, Kamag, he would have guessed soon enough.’ The young woman put out her hand for Lorn. ‘Please, sit and talk with me. It is you I came to see.’

Lorn took her hand uncertainly. ‘You are a princess? A princess of Ganjor?’

‘Only one of many daughters to my father,’ said Salina. ‘Will you sit with me and talk?’

There was no way Lorn could resist. He let Salina pull him down next to her.

‘Forgive me, my lady, but I have questions.’ Lorn shrugged, not knowing where to start. ‘This whole thing confuses me.’

‘I understand, of course,’ said Salina. ‘But let us talk in private. Kamag, will you leave us for a while? I wish to speak alone with him.’

Kamag looked disapprovingly at the girl. Finally he nodded and left them alone. When he was gone Salina poured a cup of shrana for Lorn. Lorn took the cup but did not drink. He was full of questions but didn’t know where to begin, and the sight of his pretty young benefactor tied his tongue in a knot.

‘My people, upstairs,’ he began haltingly. ‘My friends. They are all grateful to you, as am I. But I need you to explain it to me, madam. Who are you? And why are you helping us?’

‘My name is Salina,’ said the girl, ‘but you already know that. And you know that I am a daughter of King Baralosus.’

Lorn nodded. ‘A princess.’

‘Yes. And I’m not supposed to be here now. .’ She smiled at him. ‘What is your name?’

‘Lorn is my name. I am a Norvan.’

Princess Salina eyed him. ‘Lorn?’

‘That’s right.’

She hesitated. ‘I am not an uneducated woman, but the only Norvan man I’ve ever heard of is named Lorn. But he’s supposed to be dead now. Tell me — is yours a very common name in Norvor?’

‘Not very,’ Lorn replied. ‘Princess, you have already trusted me — though I know not why. So I will trust you now. I am Lorn of Norvor, once a king and now just a man. If you have heard of me then I suppose the things you’ve heard are not good. But I ask your faith regardless.’

Princess Salina was enthralled. ‘King Lorn, you are supposed to be dead.’

‘Perhaps, though rumours of my continued existence seem to be following me south. You see, my lady, why I am so skittish of you and your friends. There was a duke in Dreel who said he wanted to help me, too. Now he’s dead.’

‘You are a hunted man, then?’

‘So it seems.’

‘I assure you, I did not know who you were before you told me.’

The two strangers stared at each other over the table. Lorn saw sincerity in Salina’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure it was reflected back.

‘Shall we trust each other?’ he asked.

Salina nodded, and like a dam Lorn burst forth with his whole intriguing tale. He told Salina how he’d been betrayed back home in Norvor, and how Jazana Carr had stolen his country, eventually driving him into exile with his daughter. From there he’d gone to Liiria, he told her, hoping to help them in their battle against Jazana, but in Liiria’s library he’d discovered something amazing — a story about a desert kingdom where blind and deaf children could be made whole. Salina listened without interruption, occasionally sipping from her shrana cup but also ensnared by Lorn’s amazing tale. When at last he reached the part where he and the Believers reached Ganjor, he leaned back with a great sigh, feeling the anvil of his burden lift from his chest.

‘And now there’s you,’ he said softly, ‘and I don’t know what to do. We must reach Jador, you see. If my daughter is ever to be healed. .’ He shrugged. ‘I have no choice.’

Salina’s face filled with sympathy. ‘I do not know what you will find in Jador, King Lorn. Perhaps the Jadori will welcome you, but I have heard that many of the Seekers that cross the desert never reach Grimhold, that place you call Mount Believer. They are left there to wait outside the city gates. They do not live happy lives.’

‘Still, I must try,’ Lorn said, though the news deflated him. ‘If this Grimhold exists, then I must convince the lords of Jador to let me enter it.’

‘You may try, but you will likely never make it to Jador,’ warned the princess. ‘Kamag has already told you about Prince Aztar, but he has not told you that Aztar plans an attack on Jador.’

Lorn stiffened. ‘What?’

‘It is the truth,’ said Salina. ‘Even now his men gather in the desert, preparing. And they are not just a few. They are very many, very strong. If you cross the desert now, you will be riding into your doom.’

‘No,’ Lorn groaned. He slumped back against his haunches. ‘If Jador is conquered. .’ It was unthinkable. He’d come so far, so close. ‘They will destroy Mount Believer.’

‘If Jador falls, perhaps,’ conceded Salina. ‘But I have warned them. They know of Aztar’s plans now. They will be ready for him.’

‘Then Jador must not fall,’ Lorn decreed. ‘I will not let it.’

Salina grinned. ‘Have you a choice?’

‘There are always choices, Princess,’ he said, and in saying it reminded himself of the thing he’d told Van back in Liiria. ‘A man can fight or a man can flee. I will fight.’

‘Fight? But you are one man! Your friends, they are ill and crippled. No, you must stay in Ganjor, King Lorn, at least until the battle is over. If Jador still stands, then perhaps you may go.’

‘No. That’s not a chance worth taking. I have to go, and I cannot waste time. I must get Poppy to Jador before the city falls.’

‘You are not listening,’ said Salina. ‘There is nothing you can do to stop Aztar, King Lorn. The battle is coming.’

‘Then I will join the battle,’ said Lorn. ‘I will help the Jadori fight this so-called prince.’

Salina was stone-faced. ‘You will die. You have no chance against Aztar and his men. You may not even reach Jador before they find you. They will skin you alive in the middle of the desert, or tie you to a rock and let the sun do their work. They hate you, Lorn of Norvor. Do you not understand that?’

‘I understand, Princess,’ said Lorn, ‘but do you understand what I have been through? I have given up everything to bring Poppy to this place! I cannot stop now. I would rather die.’

The princess was silent for a moment, then smiled. ‘I believe you.’

Lorn said calmly, ‘You can still help me, Princess. You can look after the people that I’ve brought with me. There’s no reason for all of them to risk death.’

‘But they will want to go with you, surely.’

The words softened Lorn’s heart. ‘Aye, they will want that, but you are right — they are not strong enough to fight Prince Aztar, and I must travel quickly if I’m to reach Jador in time.’ Lorn paused a moment. They were not easy words to speak. ‘I will leave them here, under your care,’ he said. ‘If, as you say, there is no room for us in Grimhold, then I will come back to them.’

‘If you’re still alive,’ said Salina.

‘Indeed. If I’m still alive. But if Grimhold will take them I will send for them. Tell them to be ready, Princess.’

‘Me? Shouldn’t you tell them yourself?’

Lorn shook his head. ‘I cannot. I must leave at once with Poppy. Can you get me a horse, Princess? And milk and other provisions for the ride?’

Salina began to speak, then stopped herself. Over Lorn’s shoulder something had gotten her attention.

‘Look,’ she said softly.

Lorn turned to see what had disturbed her, then saw Eiriann standing on the threshold of the tavern. Her face was taut with anger. In her hands was Poppy, silently asleep. How long she had been there Lorn didn’t know, but it was plain from her expression that she had heard too much. Lorn and Salina both rose from the table.

‘Eiriann. .’

‘We waited for you after Dreel,’ Eiriann sneered. ‘And now you would abandon us?’

The words stabbed him like daggers. Lorn went to her. ‘For the sake of your lives, girl. .’

‘We have no lives! We left them behind in Liiria. You know that.’ Eiriann looked at Salina. ‘You are a princess?’

Salina nodded quietly.

‘Then I thank you for your help, my lady. But we are not staying.’ Eiriann stared sharply at Lorn. ‘Do you hear me? We’re going with you.’

For a moment Lorn was enraged, but his anger passed when he saw the resolve in young Eiriann’s eyes. Instead of ranting, he laughed.

‘Fire and steel!’ he declared. ‘More mettle than my own men of Norvor.’ He turned to Salina. ‘The girl is right, Princess, and I am a fool for not wanting her with me. We are all going to Jador.’

Princess Salina hid her sadness poorly. ‘It is dangerous.’ She looked at Eiriann imploringly, a girl who was almost her age exactly. ‘Think of the child if you won’t think of yourself.’

‘This child isn’t mine,’ said Eiriann. ‘Unless I make it to Mount Believer, I will never have a child of my own to hold. I am sorry, Princess, but all of us must go.’

Lorn nodded. ‘In the morning.’

Seeing their resolve, Princess Salina could only accept it. ‘Then you must sleep,’ she said. ‘When you awake there will be food and fresh animals for you, and a map that may take you around Aztar’s army.’ She smiled at them both. ‘You are very brave, but I feel very stupid for helping you to die.’

‘You are not helping us die, Princess,’ said Lorn. ‘You are giving us a chance to live.’