The Sword Of Angels

15

‘You can get off here,’ said the boatman. ‘It’s not far to the centre of the city. You can walk the way easily.’

Lukien looked out over the edge of the dock, to the sprawling city on the riverbank. The spires of Torlis shadowed his face. He smelled the briny scent of salt drying along the rocks at low tide and the pungent odours of crowded humanity. While black flies swarmed their boat, the boatman, Akhir, guided his tiny vessel toward the dock, scraping it alongside and tossing ropes to dark-skinned workers. A hundred other boats were tied there, and a hundred more choked the river, fishing boats and barges filled with cargo. Men and boys waded in the shallow parts of the river, tossing nets. Along the bank, homes of mud brick baked in the sun, erected on pylons to keep from flooding when the river rose. Beyond the homes, the centre of Torlis beckoned with its densely built temples and minarets. Somewhere in the distance a bell rang.

The workers with the ropes jerked the boat to the dock. Lukien held to the rail as the vessel jolted to a stop. Akhir hurried to secure the moorings, his gnarled hands quickly tying knots. Beside him stood Jahan, looking moonstruck as he gazed upon Torlis. For three days they had been aboard Akhir’s boat, hiring him out of a busy fishing village, the only man willing to ferry them to Torlis. For the price of their worn-out horse and donkey, Akhir had navigated them up the wide river, expertly avoiding the treacherous spots. Years of piloting his ancient boat had given Akhir a confident hand, and while he captained Lukien and Jahan could relax and rest themselves. It had been a pleasant, unremarkable journey, and the two men had deepened their friendship, getting to know one another and swapping tales. Under the starry nights, Torlis seemed a thousand miles away.

But now the great city towered all around them, and Jahan did not speak at all. He simply gazed, his eyes wide with breathless awe. His ponytail of hair pendulated to the rocking surf. Lukien sidled closer. For both of them, their arrival was a victory. As Akhir secured the vessel, Lukien and Jahan pondered the city and its people. To Lukien, they were very much like the villagers he had already encountered in Tharlara, but their city was much more advanced. Monuments were everywhere, sprouting like reeds among the paved roads cut between the grand buildings. In the centre of the city rose an elaborate palace of shimmering limestone. A trio of graceful spires turned upward from the palace, capped with golden domes that showered sunlight into the streets. The palace was easily the largest building in Torlis, dwarfing everything around it and surrounded by greenery and pools of blue water. Lukien nudged Jahan.

‘The Red Eminence?’

Jahan nodded. ‘It must be.’

Torlis itself went on for miles, but beyond the city rose a mountain range, and from that range grew a single giant of a mountain, its broad shoulders packed with snow, its peak puncturing the clouds. The river they had followed for so long snaked around the city and disappeared into the mountains. The glorious mountain drew Lukien’s gaze. He had never seen its like before, and despite the grandness of Torlis it was the mountain that made him feel small.

The boatman finished tying off his moors and came to stand beside his passengers. Akhir was a lean man, long of bone, with thoughtful eyes that gave him an air of wisdom.

‘That’s where the river comes from,’ he said, noticing the way Lukien spied the mountain. ‘When the snows melt, the river swells. It will soon happen again.’

‘And make the land strong,’ said Lukien.

Akhir smiled. ‘Yes. You are learning, foreigner.’

‘And what about that big mountain?’ Lukien asked. ‘Does it have a name?’

‘That’s a holy mountain,’ said Akhir. ‘The people of Torlis call it the House of Sercin.’

‘Who is Sercin? A ruler?’

‘Sercin is the god of this land. Look, you will see his image everywhere,’ said Akhir. He pointed toward the city and its spires. ‘You see that temple? That is a temple of Sercin.’

Lukien and Jahan both peered through the daylight. From out of the mud and limestone buildings jutted a tower topped with the image of what looked like a snake, its fanged maw opened wide.

‘You mean that one?’ asked Lukien. ‘With the serpent’s head?’

‘That is Sercin,’ Akhir explained. ‘That is how the people of Torlis say he appears. He is the patron of the city, the one who looks over them.’

‘And he lives in the mountain?’

Akhir shrugged. ‘So they say. I do not believe or disbelieve. The people of Torlis turn the river to blood when the time comes, and that is all I care about.’

Lukien was careful not to ask too many questions. So far, they had managed to avoid telling Akhir much about their journey, and the wily boatman seemed not to care. When they had requested passage to Torlis, Akhir had not asked why, but had merely taken their animals and given them to his family for safe keeping. Now, with his cargo safely delivered, he was eager to return home.

‘I have to stock my boat,’ he said. ‘And then I will leave.’

‘How long will you remain?’ asked Jahan.

‘An hour. Maybe two.’ Akhir frowned. ‘You do not want to go?’

Apprehension made Jahan’s lips curl. ‘No. We will go.’

But he didn’t move.

‘Jahan?’ probed Lukien. ‘What’s wrong?’

Jahan looked uncomfortable. ‘All of this. It is more than I expected. It is so big! It is nothing like my village. And all these people. I have never seen so many.’

‘Jahan, this is what you wanted — to see Torlis.’

‘Yes,’ Jahan agreed.

Still he did not disembark. Akhir made a face of displeasure.

‘I can take you back with me if that’s what you wish,’ he said. ‘Those were good animals you gave me. But tell me now. If you are riding back with me, I will buy enough food for us all.’

‘I’m going,’ said Lukien. ‘I have to. Jahan, go back with Akhir if that’s what you want.’

Jahan shook off his apprehension with a laugh. ‘Go back? No, Lukien. How would you find your way without me?’

‘I don’t think I could,’ said Lukien with a grin. ‘Come on, then.’

They said good-bye to Akhir, wishing the boatman a safe journey home, then stepped off his shaky vessel onto the dock. The wooden structure gave a groan beneath them, directing them toward the beach where dozens of fishermen and boys waded into the water or stayed ashore mending nets. Not far ahead of them, the crude homes of mud brick glowed orange in the sunlight. Stepping off the muddy bank and onto a crowded street, Lukien pointed with his chin toward the palace in the centre of the city.

‘There,’ he said softly. ‘That’s where we’ll find him.’

Jahan’s nervousness grew. He licked his wind-chapped lips as he surveyed the looming palace. Around it stood scores of lesser buildings, all beautifully constructed of gleaming stone and precious metals. It would be a long walk, but Lukien could tell it was not the distance daunting his friend.

‘Lukien, what will you say to him?’ Jahan asked. ‘Have you thought about it?’

‘I will tell him the truth,’ said Lukien. ‘That I’m looking for the sword, and that I’ve come a long way to find it.’

‘But look at us. We have nothing to offer. We’re dressed like peasants.’ Jahan smoothed down his garb, trying to make himself presentable. ‘The Red Eminence is rich and powerful. I think perhaps I should not have come.’

‘Why?’ Lukien asked. He paused in the middle of the avenue, turning toward his companion. ‘Because the city frightens you? Jahan, it frightens me, too. I’m the real stranger here.’

‘No Lukien. The place you come from is not so unlike this. I have listened to your stories. Your city of Koth is a great city like Torlis. And I’m. .’ Jahan dropped his eyes. ‘I’m a villager.’

‘You’re the founder of your village, a Simiheh. Your people are proud and respected in their part of Tharlara. You should tell the Red Eminence about your people, Jahan. If he doesn’t already know about them, then he should.’

Jahan tried to smile. ‘The Simiheh are proud. I will tell the Red Eminence about my people, if that’s what he wishes.’

Satisfied, Lukien took the lead as they made their way through Torlis’ crowded lanes. He wore a hood to shield himself from onlookers, but occasionally earned a surprised glance from those who had never seen his like before. Though large, Torlis was not like Koth, with its myriad of peoples. Instead, the people of Torlis were all the same, with skin like caramel and dark, narrow eyes. They dressed themselves in robes similar to Jahan’s, though better made, and the women wore their hair long and adorned themselves with jewelry. As they entered a market, the noise of chattering patrons filled the square. Merchants stood behind tables laden with dates and rice, shouting above the din while caged birds chirped incessantly and dogs ran between the stalls. Old men sat around game tables, smoking pipes and laughing, while boys in long, striped gowns herded sheep through the market. Exotic smells filled the air, making Lukien hungry, but he had very little coinage left to splurge, and so decided to forgo the market’s many treats. Jahan, who had left down his hood, let his head swivel on his shoulders, taking in every sight and sound. Still, the people of Torlis paid the pair little attention. Too involved with their day to day business, they offered only cursory stares.

Leaving the market, Lukien discovered a wide, straight avenue leading directly toward the centre of the city. At the end of the road stood the palace. Carts drawn by oxen and donkeys filled the road. Triple-tiered homes lined the sidewalks. Lukien led Jahan down the avenue, marvelling at a temple ascending high above their heads. It was the one they had seen from Akhir’s boat. The enormous image of the serpent’s head surveyed the city with its reptilian eyes, its stone tongue licking the air. Around the temple knelt praying worshippers, holding burning incense and chanting. Even with the help of his amulet, Lukien could not understand their words.

‘Look, Jahan,’ said Lukien. ‘What Akhir said about Sercin — did you know about that?’

Jahan craned his neck to better see the towering serpent. ‘I have never heard of a god named Sercin. But see — he is a rass. They are holy here, too.’

‘And the people here turn the river to blood,’ said Lukien, repeating Akhir’s claim. ‘Just like you said.’

‘It is the Red Eminence who makes the river bleed, when he kills the great rass.’

‘The great rass. Could that be Sercin?’

‘I do not know, Lukien.’ Jahan turned eyes toward the palace. ‘Come. The Red Eminence will have your answers.’

Avoiding the carts and beasts of burden, they took the sidewalks of the avenue, heading directly toward the palace. After a time the avenue changed, and the houses along its way surrendered to more splendid buildings. Here, there were few children playing and the homes were more elaborate. The dress of the people became finer. Taller spires reached into the air and broad-leafed trees shaded those along the walkways. Enormous edifices of limestone — monuments to past rulers, Lukien supposed — looked down at them from pedestals of polished rock, sitting like giants on gargantuan thrones. Passing the monuments, they came at last to the gates leading to the palace. Lukien paused, struck by the gates and the grounds beyond them. All around the palace stood gardens and fountains and meticulously manicured pathways. Butterflies fluttered among the flowers while men in white uniforms and saffron sashes guarded the lanes, their heads wrapped with cloths and pinned with jewels. Other men walked among them, looking like holy men in their simple, off the shoulder robes. The palace itself was set back from the gardens, its three spires achingly beautiful. The blinding-white surface of the palace contained a mind-boggling array of carvings, all climbing forever up the towers, reaching for the golden domes.

‘No one from my village has ever been here,’ Jahan whispered. ‘Or seen anything so beautiful.’

Lukien could not argue, for he doubted that he himself had ever seen such beauty wrought by human hands. The artisans of the palace had made more than a grand building of limestone and gold. They had made a miracle.

‘We should go,’ he said gently. ‘Are you ready?’

Swallowing his emotions, Jahan squared his shoulders and proceeded toward the gates. Lukien walked beside him, imitating his friend’s fearlessness. He had travelled for months and endless miles to reach this place. The hope that his journey had neared its end was overwhelming. Not wanting to hide himself, he lowered his hood to present his white face and golden hair. Inside the gates, a contingent of guards dressed in their perfect uniforms gathered to confront them, clearly surprised by the visitors. The guards held long, spear-like weapons of ebony topped with hooked blades. In their sashes were short, curved swords. Each wore a jewel in his headdress, all of them rubies except for one, who pinned his head gear with a diamond. A man of rank among his peers, the one with the diamond broke from the others to peek through the gate. He looked perplexed rather than angry.

‘Who are you?’ he asked. For a moment, Lukien did not understand his words. Then, as had happened with all those he’d met in Tharlara, the words became clear to him, magically translated in his mind. Lukien glanced at Jahan and saw that he too understood the guard, though their dialects were markedly different.

‘My name is Lukien. This is my friend, Jahan, a Simiheh from a village a long way from here.’

The leader of the guardians regarded Lukien curiously. A young man, there was innocence in his eyes. ‘You are strange looking. And your words. .’ He looked at his comrades, who all had the same reaction. ‘They’re different, but we understand!’

‘Please don’t be afraid,’ Lukien cautioned. ‘I’m from a land far away, a land called Liiria. I speak differently from you. But I have a way to make people understand me.’

The guard turned to Jahan. ‘You are from the river lands beyond the city.’

‘I am Simiheh,’ said Jahan proudly. ‘My village is far from here. I took this man up the river so that he could see the Red Eminence.’

‘A peasant and a foreigner?’ The guard shook his head. ‘The Eminence will not see you.’

‘Please listen,’ implored Lukien. ‘I’ve come a long way, many miles. I must see the Red Eminence.’

‘It is not possible,’ said the guard. ‘You are not expected, you are not of important families, you do not even bring gifts with you. The Eminence will not see you.’

‘But it’s important,’ Lukien argued. ‘Have you ever seen my kind before?’

‘No,’ the guardian admitted.

Lukien raised his voice just enough. ‘Then how do you know I am not important? I have business with the Red Eminence, probably something you cannot understand. I have come a long way to bring something from my land, something of great value. Now, open the gate and let us pass.’

Lukien’s bravado caught the attention of others on the grounds, guards and holy men who came to gape at the strangers. One man in particular, far older than the rest, came to stand beside the man with the diamond headdress. Surrounded by young acolytes in flowing robes, the old man stared inquisitively.

‘What have your brought the Red Eminence?’ asked the guard, growing annoyed.

Lukien reached beneath his clothing and pulled out the Eye of God. ‘This.’

The gathered men gave a collective gasp of interest, instantly bewitched by the amulet. Lukien let it dangle before them, twirling it on its chain. As if on cue, the ruby jewel in its centre flared to life.

‘This is an artifact of powerful magic,’ said Lukien, unsure of the wisdom of his gambit. ‘It is from my land across the desert, a mighty land with great sorcerers. The magic of this amulet lets you understand my words.’

The guard stepped back, bewildered. Before he could speak, the old holy man came forth.

‘You are from across the desert?’ he asked.

‘I am,’ Lukien declared.

The holy man watched the Eye of God as it spun on its chain. Sunlight danced off the amulet and the old man’s shaved head. A tattooed serpent slithered on his neck, its head almost biting his ear, where a single earring dangled. His young acolytes bore earrings as well, but no tattoo.

‘That is a magic thing, you say? From your people?’

Lukien nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘And who are your people? What are they called?’

‘I’m from Liiria. That’s what my people are called — Liirians.’

‘Liirians.’ The old man chewed on the word, looking disappointed. ‘That’s not right.’

‘What do you mean?’

The holy man shook his head. ‘If you were the one, you would know.’

The old man turned and shuffled back toward the palace.

‘Wait!’ Lukien called. ‘What is it you want me to say? What answer are you looking for?’

‘If I told you that, then you would have the answer,’ laughed the man.

‘This amulet isn’t Liirian,’ Lukien rushed to add. ‘It was made by others, by Akari.’

The old holy man stopped walking. ‘Akari, you say?’

‘Akari, yes,’ said Lukien. ‘Does that mean something to you?’

‘Something, yes.’ The man looked at the guardian with the diamond in his headdress. ‘Let them enter.’

‘Karoshin?’

‘It is all right,’ said the holy man. ‘Open the gate.’

At the old man’s order the guards opened the gates for Lukien and Jahan, then stood aside for them to enter. Lukien went to the holy man at once.

‘Thank you,’ he said, still holding the Eye of God. ‘This amulet — do you know of it?’

‘No.’

‘But then how can you know the word Akari?’

‘My name is Karoshin,’ replied the old man. ‘I am a priest of Sercin. You have come seeking the Red Eminence?’

‘Yes. Will he see us?’

‘I will take you,’ said the priest. ‘You have many questions. The Red Eminence will have answers. Come.’

The acolytes were quick to surround their venerable leader as he headed toward the palace. Lukien and Jahan hurried after him. Behind them, the guards closed the gate but did not follow, and Karoshin did not turn to face them as he led them up the lane. The palace soared overhead, spreading its giant shadow across the gardens. Pools filled with colourful fish lined the way, reflecting the high, golden domes of the spires. The palace itself had a hundred different entrances, all of them arched beneath a roof that shaded the strolling priests. Vibrant tiles lined the archways, giving way to busy halls filled with busy servants. Karoshin led them beneath the roof and past a dozen arches until at last entering one, a splendid portal of shimmering bronze. Walking beneath it, Lukien marvelled at the way it reflected the light.

Inside, the palace was no less dazzling, as the archway led into an immense hall of vaulted limestone, painted in a thousand hues of blue. Reliefs of vines and flowers stood out from the carved stone, tangling into a remarkable mosaic that writhed with life along the ceiling. The tiles echoed musically with their footfalls, delicately painted with complex patterns of gold and crimson. Light from small, bronze-fretted windows filled the hall, setting it ablaze with colour, while statues bathed in the sunlight, arching their naked bodies. Lukien took it all in, his heart racing with anticipation. He glanced triumphantly at Jahan, but the village man was too awestruck to notice.

‘Jahan,’ Lukien whispered. ‘How do you feel?’

Jahan’s reply was soft and shallow. ‘Lukien, I am blessed. That is how I feel.’

The hallway terminated into another vast archway. Without doors, the arch revealed an effusive chamber beyond, where guardians stood watch and priests milled about in quiet conversation. As Karoshin approached the chamber, the priests turned and bowed. Karoshin raised his hand in a gesture of thanks. Lukien looked over his shoulder and saw the grand chamber for the first time, an enormous throne room with stout pillars and tiled mosaics and wooden chests along the walls. The chamber of the Red Eminence was filled with people, many of them priests like Karoshin, others dressed more formally, chatting or studying scrolls. And though he tried to locate the Red Eminence himself, Lukien could not see past the pillars.

‘You will wait here,’ Karoshin directed. He told his young acolytes to watch over the visitors, than disappeared into the throne room. The priests and others gathered by the arch watched them curiously, clearly surprised by their presence. Lukien smiled disarmingly.

‘Hello,’ he offered.

The men did not reply. Jahan took hold of Lukien’s sleeve.

‘Say nothing,’ he whispered. ‘They do not trust us.’

‘They don’t know us, Jahan.’

Jahan was like a child suddenly, giddy and frightened at the same time. ‘Tell me again, Lukien — what will you say to the Red Eminence?’

‘The truth. It got us this far.’

But Karoshin’s reaction had puzzled Lukien, and he wondered how the old man had known about the Akari. He should have asked him about the sword, he supposed, but soon he would have his audience with the Eminence. Soon, all his questions would be answered. He tried to ignore the onlookers as he waited, studying the palace and marvelling at its architecture. Jahan stood beside him, fidgeting under the glare of the white-robed priests.

After what felt like a very long time, Karoshin finally returned. Standing in the threshold of the arch, he held out his hand for Lukien, bidding him to come.

‘And my friend?’ Lukien asked.

‘And your friend,’ replied Karoshin gently. To his acolytes he said, ‘Remain out here, all of you.’

Bracing himself, Lukien followed Karoshin beneath the arch and into the splendid throne room, dazzled by what he saw. The pillars supporting the cavernous roof rose up like giants, painted in bright depictions of serpents and gods, spiraling toward a magnificent ceiling of sweeping constellations. Twinkling bits of glass had been set into the plaster, mimicking a thousand stars, while a gigantic sun of bronze and moon of pearly stone rose from opposite sides of the ceiling, battling for the heavens. Along the ornate floor tiles had been arranged in complex patterns, spiraling like red roses along a sandy beach. Instead of tapestries, the walls were hung with golden lanterns, each one lit with leaping flames. The chamber was simply enormous, dwarfing all those within it, and Lukien still could not see a throne behind the pillars and priests milling about. Beside him, Jahan remained uncharacteristically quiet, as spellbound as Lukien by the fantastic chamber. His soft shoes made no sound as he padded across the ornate tiles.

At last they worked their way past the gathered men, toward an area of the throne room that abruptly thinned of people. There, across the floor, Lukien saw the throne itself, an enormous chair of gold that swallowed its occupant. At the edge of this quiet area Karoshin paused, dropping to his knees. The person on the throne turned her gaze toward him.

Lukien blinked in disbelief. On the golden throne sat a girl.

Until now, the priests and advisors in the chamber had talked without end. But silence suddenly gripped the throne room. On her magnificent throne, the girl looked at Lukien, perplexed. She wore a gown of silk with a pleated skirt, cinched around her waist with a belt of turquoise. Chains of gold and obsidian hung around her wrists and neck. Heavy makeup lined her dark eyes, giving her the air of age, but her underdeveloped body told Lukien she was less than fifteen. Short, shimmering hair had been cut straight along her ears, revealing dangling jewels and feathers. Her hands clasped the arms of her throne, which were cast into the likeness of serpents. Behind her, the back of her throne formed the hood of a rass, and she, in its folds, seemed lost.

‘Eminence, these are the ones I told you about,’ said Karoshin. Still on his knees, he kept his eyes to the floor as he spoke. ‘They have come many miles to see you.’

The girl on the throne appeared stunned, as if Lukien’s arrival was like a falling star crashing through her throne room. Her ruby-coloured lips parted in disbelief. She watched her visitors carefully, searching for words. Jahan quickly grabbed hold of Lukien’s arm.

‘Lukien, this can’t be,’ he whispered.

‘Easy,’ Lukien urged.

Karoshin turned from his knees to glare at them. ‘Kneel.’

Taking hold of Jahan, Lukien guided himself and his companion down to the ground, copying Karoshin exactly.

‘Karoshin, send the others away,’ said the girl. ‘Everyone.’

The old priest rose at once, turning toward the gallery of onlookers and ordering them to go. Without hesitation the advisors and holy men retreated, departing the chamber through the great arch until it echoed with unnerving silence. Lukien remained still, not daring to look up or offend the young ruler. When all the others had gone, even the girl’s guardians, Karoshin spoke again.

‘This one is Lukien,’ said Karoshin, pointing down at the knight. ‘It is he who bears the magic amulet.’

‘And the other?’ The girl assessed Jahan. ‘He looks like one of us.’

‘I am Simiheh,’ Jahan pronounced. ‘My village is far from here, but I am of the river lands, like you.’

Lukien chanced a glance at the girl. She did not look displeased.

‘You may rise,’ she told them.

Karoshin urged the pair to their feet, then stood between them and the girl. Now that all the others had gone, he seemed at greater ease. ‘Lahkali, he knows of the Akari. He’s not one of them, but the amulet he has was made by Akari.’

‘Show me,’ the girl told Lukien.

Without hesitation Lukien took the Eye of God from beneath his shirt, holding it out for her to see. ‘It is Akari, Eminence,’ he assured her. ‘They made it many years ago, ages before it came to me. It was given to me across the desert, by a people I came to live among.’

‘Give it to me,’ said the girl. ‘I wish to see it clearly.’

Lukien hesitated. ‘I cannot. The amulet’s power keeps me alive, Eminence. If I part with it, I will die.’

‘A powerful item,’ Karoshin remarked, though Lukien’s claim did not seem to startle him. ‘Go closer then.’

‘Yes, come closer,’ said the girl, leaning over her throne. ‘Let me look at it.’

Lukien did as the young ruler asked, stepping up to her throne and holding the amulet out for her. Her expression deepened as she inspected it, nodding without really understanding.

‘Karoshin, I cannot tell if it’s genuine,’ she said. ‘How can I know?’

‘I am not certain, Lahkali.’ The holy man stuck his face out, almost touching the amulet with his nose. ‘It’s old, certainly. And it gives him the power to speak our tongue, and for us to understand his own. That is remarkable, surely. And I did not tell him the word Akari — he knew it on his own.’

‘It is genuine, Eminence, I promise,’ said Lukien. ‘It’s true that I don’t know everything about the Akari. But I do know how you might have heard of them. Do you know of an Akari named Malator?’

The Red Eminence looked mindfully at her holy man. ‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘We have heard of him.’

Lukien’s heart leapt at the news. ‘That is a great relief to me, Eminence. What can you tell me about him?’

‘No,’ said the girl. ‘What can you tell us of him?’

‘Me? I don’t understand?’

‘You have come for a reason. You have come seeking something, perhaps?’

‘Yes,’ said Lukien. ‘A sword. The Sword of Angels, it’s called. Do you know of it?’

Lahkali the Red Eminence grew circumspect. ‘What do you know of the Akari called Malator?’

‘Not very much, I’m sorry to say. I was told about him in a dead city across the desert. A spirit told me about him.’

‘A spirit?’ Karoshin perked up at this. ‘You can speak with spirits? Lahkali, do you hear?’

‘I hear,’ said Lahkali. There was a measure of excitement in her tone. ‘Go on, Lukien of Liiria. Tell us more.’

‘I don’t actually speak to spirits,’ Lukien explained. ‘Rather they have spoken to me. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. This city I mentioned — it was once called Kaliatha. It was the city of the Akari before they all died. They were slaughtered by a race called the Jadori, many years ago. This spirit that spoke to me was an Akari. He told me that Malator came here to Tharlara, looking for help against the Jadori.’ Lukien looked hopefully at the girl. ‘Is that how you know about the Akari, Eminence? Because Malator came to your land?’

Again the girl looked to Karoshin for guidance. The old man nodded his approval.

‘You are right,’ said the girl. ‘Mostly it is a story to us, handed down through the years. And it is just as you have said. The Akari called Malator came to Torlis seeking our help in his war.’

‘But he never returned home to his people,’ said Lukien. ‘That’s what the spirit told me. Is that so?’

‘Karoshin?’

‘Tell him what you must, Lahkali,’ advised Karoshin. ‘I see no danger in it.’

‘Then I will tell you that Malator did not return to his people,’ said the girl. ‘He remained here in Torlis until he died.’

Jahan, who had so far stayed quiet, now came forward. ‘May I speak?’ he asked.

His interruption perturbed the girl. ‘You have a question?’

‘Yes, Eminence. Are you the one who turns the river to blood?’

The girl turned to her priest. ‘Karoshin. .’

‘Your questions are an insult,’ hissed the holy man. ‘She is the lord of Torlis.’

‘Jahan meant no insult,’ said Lukien quickly, surprised at the offense the girl had taken. ‘His village is far from here. They’re simple people, and he came to help me.’

‘And to see you, Eminence,’ said Jahan. ‘Forgive me. But where I came from you are special to us.’

The ruler’s face twisted. ‘And you did not expect a girl to be on Torlis’ throne.’

Seeing the situation worsening, Lukien said, ‘Eminence, he is my friend. Without him I would not have made it here. He simply wanted to see you and your city. It has overwhelmed him.’

‘I think he is overwhelmed because he thinks me a child,’ said the girl. ‘But you, Lukien — you have not explained yourself. You say you have come here for a sword.’

‘Yes, Eminence, the Sword of Angels. Do you know of it?’

‘We know of it.’ She looked expectantly at Lukien. ‘You’ve come to claim it?’

‘Yes, please, Eminence. It’s important that I find the sword and bring it back with me across the desert. I will offer anything I can for it.’

‘You need not offer anything,’ said the girl. ‘Just tell us where it is and it will be yours.’

‘But I don’t know where it is,’ said Lukien. ‘That’s why I’ve come, to ask your help in finding it.’

‘You don’t know. .?’ Once again Lahkali turned toward Karoshin. ‘Karoshin, this is not correct. .’

Karoshin said, ‘Lukien, what do you know of the sword?’

‘Almost nothing,’ Lukien admitted. ‘I was told about it by another spirit, a woman. She said I would find it here in the Serpent Kingdom. In Tharlara.’

‘But you don’t know where? You don’t know it’s location?’

‘No.’ Lukien felt stupid suddenly, as if he’d missed something obvious. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t. But if you tell me. .’

‘We cannot tell you,’ said the Red Eminence. ‘You are supposed to know where the sword is hidden.’

‘But I don’t, Eminence. That’s why I came to you.’

‘You do not understand,’ said Karoshin. ‘Only Lahkali knows where the sword of the Akari is hidden, and she may not reveal it to anyone.’

‘The story of the sword is sacred to us,’ said the Eminence. ‘It has been passed to me through all of the rulers of Torlis. Someday, the seeker of the sword is to come, and he is to know where it is hidden. You have surprised us by coming at all. I can barely believe it. You know of the Akari and of Malator, and how his race was at war with the Jadori. All of these things are part of the story, but they are not the secret part. The secret hiding place of the Akari sword is known only to me — and to he who seeks the sword.’

‘That’s me. I’m the one seeking the sword,’ said Lukien, exasperated. He searched his memory for anything else Cassandra might have told him, any helpful bit. He had been near death when she came to him, hanging on to life by his fingernails. But he remembered the encounter vividly, and he knew he had not forgotten a single word. ‘The spirit who came to me said nothing about this,’ he said. ‘She told me I would find the sword here in the Serpent Kingdom. And I have come to claim it.’

‘But that is not enough,’ said Lahkali. ‘The story is clear. The seeker of the sword will know where it is hidden.’

‘But how can I? I’ve already told you all that I know.’

‘Perhaps the seeker is supposed to be an Akari,’ Jahan suggested. ‘Lukien, remember what you told me about them. They are powerful with magic. An Akari would know where the sword is hidden.’

The theory made sense. Lukien took hold of his amulet, concentrating. Inside the Eye of God he could sense the awesome presence of Amaraz. Surely the great Akari could help him. Helpless, Lukien tried to channel the spirit. With sweat beading on his forehead, he stared hard at the amulet, trying to penetrate its arcane world.

‘What are you doing, Lukien?’ asked Jahan.

Lukien did not answer, fighting instead to summon Amaraz. But the spirit of the Eye did not answer, leaving Lukien desperate and frustrated.

‘I don’t know,’ groaned Lukien. He looked up from the amulet. ‘Eminence, I don’t know where the sword is hidden. I only know that it’s somewhere here in your kingdom, and that if I don’t find it people are going to die. People who are important to me.’

The girl on the throne sounded powerless. ‘I am sorry.’

‘No, I know you’re sorry. But Eminence, I cannot go home without the sword. I cannot!’

‘If you can prove to me that you are the rightful seeker, than the sword will be yours. I do not play games with you. I would gladly let you claim the sword, but you must tell me where in Torlis it lies.’

‘What else can I tell you?’ Lukien asked desperately. ‘You know about Malator. He came from Kaliatha when his people were at war. He had a brother named Kahldris, who made a suit of armour called the Devil’s Armour.’

Lahkali shook her head. ‘That’s not what I need to hear. Only where the sword lies.’

‘But this armour has claimed a friend of mine! It’s like this amulet — it has the spirit of Malator’s brother inside it, controlling it. I’ve tried to fight him but I can’t. I need the sword to beat him!’

Still, nothing convinced her. The Eminence looked forlornly at the knight. ‘I may not release the sword to anyone save he who knows its hiding place.’

‘Who then? If not me, who?’

‘For countless ages my ancestors have kept the secret of the sword. You’re the first to ever come to find it. I admit, you tempt me with your knowledge, but no, I cannot give it to you.’

‘Then I have come here for nothing,’ said Lukien bitterly. ‘It doesn’t matter to you that I have spoken to spirits or that I know every bit of your precious puzzle save one. That sword should be mine! Please, Eminence, I do not ask this for myself. I will bring it back to you once my task is done. If-’

‘No and no,’ said the girl. ‘If you cannot tell me where the sword is hidden, then you may not claim it.’ She rose from her throne, stepping off the dais to stand before Lukien. ‘Do not beg me. What you ask is not possible.’

Lukien’s bravado collapsed. He stared at the girl. Unsure what to do, he placed the Eye of God back beneath his shirt.

‘So this means nothing to you,’ he said. ‘Not the Eye of God or its magic, nor anything I have said to you.’

‘Speak to the spirits again,’ said Karoshin.

‘Again? I don’t pull them out of my pocket, holy man.’

Karoshin poked him hard in the chest. ‘Command them to speak to you! The one inside your amulet — make him tell you where the sword is hidden.’

‘I can’t! He has his own mind, and he’s made it up against me. He never speaks to me, no matter how much I beg him.’

‘Until you learn the location of the sword, I cannot let you claim it,’ said Lahkali. She offered him a sympathetic smile. ‘I regret it is this way.’

‘So do I,’ said Lukien. ‘So do I.’

Jahan searched Lukien’s face. ‘What should we do now? Go back home?’

‘That may be the only sane thing to do,’ Lukien supposed. ‘But I can’t go home without the sword. I have to find out where it’s hidden, Jahan. Somehow.’

‘Yes, but how?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Lukien. ‘We’ll find a way. Eminence, is there anything more you can tell me? Anything that will help me figure out this riddle?’

‘You know much of it already,’ said the girl. ‘And you may take us much time as you wish to figure out the rest. Stay here among us if you like. There is more than enough room for you, as you can see.’

‘Thank you, Eminence. We would like that, both of us. We’ve come so far. .’

‘And you are so weary, I can tell.’ To Lukien’s astonishment, Lahkali reached up and touched his face, the wounded side with the patched eye. ‘Stay here and rest. And when you are ready, tell me about your world and these friends of yours. I want to know what makes them special enough to take you so far from home.’

Lukien took her hand, feeling its small, caring fingers. ‘I will do that. Thank you.’

‘But it is not a bargain,’ Karoshin warned. ‘Tell her whatever you wish, but exact no price. You will not be able to cajole the sword’s secret from her.’

‘I understand,’ said Lukien, unsure if the holy man believed him.

‘Karoshin will give you rooms. I have servants to feed you and look after your needs. Whatever you want, you have only to ask.’

Lukien bowed and thanked the young ruler, urging Jahan to do the same, then followed Karoshin away. Out of Lahkali’s earshot, Karoshin began explaining things to them, where they would be sleeping and when they could expect meals to be served. Lukien pretended to listen, but his thoughts were a hundred miles away.

Lahkali had been kind, and he appreciated her charity. But she was also young and distracted, and he was sure he could win her trust in time. Time was all he needed. In time, she would tell him where to find the Sword of Angels.