The Sword Of Angels

4

A lonely man sat upon his dust-laden horse, peering through his single eye, pondering the dead city rising before him. His body, worn thin from hunger and endless days of solitary riding, bore the dirt of a thousand roads and the countless, nameless towns he had encountered. A month of beard sprouted from his face. His battered leather jerkin bore stains of sweat and sand. Beneath his shirt he wore an amulet hidden from view, priceless and ancient, its gold encrusted jewel pulsing with unnatural light, a light that had kept its weary bearer alive despite mortal wounds and a body desperate to collapse. The rider drew a breath, unsure what he was seeing. He had ridden for days without seeing a soul, not even the hint of human habitation, and the visage of the city startled him. Across the rugged plains he heard the wind whisper in the grasses, but from the city he heard nothing. From his place in the tall weeds the city appeared a purplish-black, a broken silhouette with the sun dropping behind it. His long hair — once blond but streaked with grey now — stirred in the breeze as he studied the city. The city had died millennia ago, along with the race that had built it. Its towers and tall aqueducts crumbled in the failing light. Vermin and shrubs had overtaken its deserted streets.

Lukien, the Bronze Knight of Liiria, looked upon the city and was silent. Dreams had guided him here, but he knew the city was not the Serpent Kingdom, the object of his quest. The city was Akari. Finally, his long journey was nearing its end. Lukien took water from the canteen at his saddle, carefully drinking the precious stuff. Beyond the city he could see forests, lush and alive, and he knew that there would be streams there and game to hunt. In the shadow of the sad ruins, he felt grateful for the shade. It had been a mercilessly long journey from Liiria and he had endured every hardship to get this far. Driven on by dreams he could not explain, he had ridden south and east, through Marn and the nations of the continent, then on through the badlands bordering the Desert of Tears, into lands that would not welcome him and did not speak his northern tongue. Against hunger and thirst and crushing loneliness, he had left behind civilization, riding here to the end of the world.

And he did not know why, except for the dreams.

Lukien’s body had mostly healed in the weeks since leaving Liiria. His battle with Baron Glass had left him near death, but the amulet around his neck had snatched him from the grave. His body was stronger now, though desperately weary, and he knew that Amaraz, the spirit in the amulet, had not only saved him but had gifted him with the dreams. Each night when he lay himself down, Lukien heard the words in his mind, urging him westward, pointing him in directions he would not have guessed to travel. Because of the dreams he knew which roads to take and which stars to follow. At last he put his hand over his chest, feeling the Eye of God beneath his jerkin.

‘Is this what you wanted me to see?’

The great Akari Amaraz, encased within the Eye, Amaraz did not respond.

‘I know it is,’ Lukien told the spirit spitefully. ‘Be silent, then.’

He did not know why Amaraz always ignored him, or why the Akari had spoken to him in dreams instead. Perhaps Minikin might know, but he had not seen her for entire seasons, nor sought her counsel in the matter of the sword. He had only his vision of Cassandra to guide him. And the dreams.

Thinking of Cassandra now, his heart broke once more. It was she that had told him of the Sword of Angels. After his battle with Lorn, his body shattered and dying, she had appeared to him. They had actually talked, like living people, and looked into each others’ eyes. She had told him that only this strange weapon could defeat the Devil’s Armour. She had been the first to guide him this way.

‘Beyond the desert. .’

He was well beyond the desert now, he knew. Beyond Grimhold and Jador too. All because the dreams had told him where to go. Sadly, Cassandra had not come to him again, but Lukien knew she was with him. Death was just a veil, and beyond it was Cassandra, waiting for him.

‘And when this is done, Amaraz, I will see her again.’

He partly expected the Akari to rage at his oath, the way Cassandra had. He would find the Sword of Angels and he would defeat Baron Glass, and when that was done he would strip away his hated amulet and join his beloved in death.

‘But not today.’

Today he had the city to explore. With daylight quickly fading, Lukien pressed onward. His weary horse eyed the city suspiciously as he trotted over the hard grassland. Behind them, the world stretched forever with similar features, nearly barren and devoid of people, but up ahead the lushness of the forest called to the horse, urging it forward. As they neared the city, Lukien spied the fabled architecture of the Akari. They had been a race of scientists and sorcerers, a people who had worshipped knowledge and had built great monuments to it. The city itself was at least the size of Koth. In its day it had no doubt dominated this part of the world.

Until the rise of the Jadori.

How far was Jador, Lukien wondered? He knew that the Jadori had ridden their kreels to this place and had vanquished the Akari. Lukien turned his gaze south, knowing that somewhere, lost over the horizon, lay Jador. His heart ached to return there. He looked toward the city and imagined the battle. On this very plain, his peace-loving Jadori had murdered countless Akari, and if he tried very hard Lukien could hear their ghosts on the breeze. Before him, a great, twisting tower rose up, stretching its shadow over him. He entered the city to the sounds of his own breathing and the clip-clop of his horse on the ancient paving stones. There he stopped again, unsure where to go.

The city was called Kaliatha, and every Inhuman and Jadori knew of it. None had ever returned, though, not even Minikin. It was a holy place to some, worthy of avoidance. Distance and rugged terrain had sealed it off from the rest of the world, and as Lukien gazed upon its decayed splendour he realized that he alone was the only person to have looked on it for centuries. The notion staggered him. His eyes bounced from one magnificent edifice to the next, all crumbling yet all somehow remarkably whole, still standing against the brutal elements. An empty gathering square greeted Lukien, a round collection of polished stones surrounded by archways and long-closed shops. Near the square stood a dried-out fountain. Statues of beautiful men and women lined the square, most missing limbs but all with the same exquisite Akari faces. Enchanted, Lukien guided his horse closer, inspecting the figures one by one. A woman in a gown with one breast exposed studied a dove perched on her finger. An imposing soldier reared back on a snorting horse, trampling a reptile beneath his angry hooves. Lukien paused to stare at the reptile, thinking it a dragon at first.

‘A kreel,’ he whispered in amazement. He smiled, delighted with the sculpture and wondering what Gilwyn would think of it. He continued, and soon came across a statue smaller than the rest, of a tiny girl at prayer. Locked forever in a kneel, her eyes eternally closed, she seemed perfect in the square, totally silent and reverent. Lukien moved on.

Deeper into the city, he left the square behind and entered an avenue of homes and overgrown, abandoned gardens. With daylight quickly fading, he considered going into one of the homes for shelter, but then decided against it. None of them looked particularly stable, and the thought of being surrounded by ghosts unnerved him. He stopped his horse at the gate of one of the homes, somewhat grander than the rest, with a large garden out front and the pillars of a gate, the wood from which had long ago turned to dust. Lukien dismounted, studying the place as he tied his mount to one of the pillars. The two-story structure held the familiar markings of Akari architecture, with long, graceful arches and rounded turrets. A rich man’s house, Lukien supposed. The garden itself was at least a half an acre in size and studded with tall trees that had grown up through the carefully laid bricks. Birds nested in the trees. For the first time, Lukien noticed their songs.

‘Here, then,’ he declared, supposing it as good a spot as any to wait out the night. He could not make it through the city in the dark, and he was bone-tired from his long day of riding. Tomorrow he would continue on, searching for the Serpent King, but tonight he would rest among the Akari ruins. And, if he was lucky, he would have another dream to light his way. Deciding to explore the garden before settling down, he walked to the threshold of the old home. Where once a wooden door had stood, now only iron hinges hung, uselessly rusted. Lukien peered inside.

‘Hello?’

The darkened interior echoed with a cavernous yawn. Lukien didn’t bother stepping inside. In his younger days he might have enjoyed exploring the home, but now he was tired, and the emptiness of the place only made him feel more alone. He retreated from the threshold, stepping back into the garden. An iron trestle, rusted and dilapidated, caught his eye at the far end of the yard. A clearing had been made there. Lukien studied it as he neared the flat ground. Once, the area had been lovingly tended, or so he imagined, full of roses and fragrant plants. Even now, a few hearty ancestors of those plants rose up from the weeds, bursting brightly into colour. It was the only real life Lukien had seen in the city, and the flowers made him grin. He went to them, pushing past some thorny shrubs, and stuck his nose into a yellow bloom. Along with the birdsongs and light breeze, he heard bees making music. Because no one had told them the city had died, they went on about their busy work, hopping from flower to flower.

Lukien returned to his horse to collect his saddle bags and bedroll. He had a meagre meal planned for himself, just the dried out things he had collected in the last town a week ago, but he knew that soon he would be able to hunt in the forest. Tomorrow, he would have fresh meat, and this thought buoyed him as he laid out his bed for the night. He would make a small fire, too, have his poor supper, and sleep well in the garden of this dead rich man. But as he began unpacking his bags, he noticed another feature of the garden he hadn’t seen before, near the trestle. What looked like a grave marker jutted from the earth, mostly hidden behind bramble.

Lukien pushed aside the thorny sticks with his boot, kneeling down in front of the stone. It did indeed seem like a tombstone, but it was rectangular, like a pillar. About half as tall as Lukien, it had been carved with hundreds of words, long lines of them travelling its entire surface. Lukien ran his hand over the rough stone, feeling the carvings. They were Akari words, he supposed, similar to Jadori symbols. Since he couldn’t read Jadori, either, he couldn’t guess at their meaning. Names, perhaps. He looked down at the ground.

‘Of the people buried here?’

He backed away from the marker, unsettled by it but unwilling to find himself another spot for the night. He was too tired, and whoever might be buried here was too long dead to trouble him. Deciding it better to stay put, he sat himself down on his bedroll and stared up into the darkening sky. He had already laid some food next to him, and as he watched the stars he ate of his dried meat and hardtack, sipping water in between bites to soften the unpalatable fare. The sky quickly darkened as the sun finally faded completely. Lukien chewed slowly, listening as the birds fell silent and the insects took over, chirping and buzzing. An orchestra of stars came out, one by one twinkling to life. They were different stars then he’d seen up north in Liiria, though much the same as they appeared in Jador, and seeing them comforted Lukien, for he knew that he was not far from Minikin and Gilwyn and all the others he had left behind. As he stared into the sky, he imagined their faces in the constellations — little Minikin, with her upturned ears and sharp, knowing smile, and Gilwyn, too, so quickly becoming a man. Lukien, whose left eye was gone and covered with a patch, focused his good eye on the stars and tried to picture Cassandra. She was there, he knew, somewhere.

‘In the land of the dead,’ he whispered to himself.

That’s what she had said when she had come to him. And he had been with her there, so close to death himself that he had breached the wall between their worlds.

‘Cassandra, are you there?’ he asked the stars. ‘I know you are. I know you can see me. I’m close now. I’ve made it to Kaliatha. Soon I’ll find the Sword of Angels.’ He smiled, sure that she heard him. Cassandra was like an Akari now, out of sight but only just beyond his reach. He continued, ‘I’ll find the Serpent Kingdom, Cassandra, just like you told me. I’ll defeat Thorin so we can be. .’

He stopped himself, blinking at the sky. She didn’t want them to be together, not that way. Not until his time had come.

Lukien swallowed his last bit of beef and closed his eyes. Feeling sleep quickly overtaking him, he wondered if Amaraz would come to him again, the way he had so many nights before. It was not like being talked to, but rather a feeling of being pulled. In all their time together, Amaraz had never addressed Lukien directly. Being so ignored had embittered

Lukien, but tonight he welcomed the Akari into his mind.

Lukien slept.

Hours passed quietly, and Lukien did not awaken while he slumbered. His exhausted body craved the rest, making him sleep deeply and dreamless. At well past midnight he finally stirred, sensing a presence around him. He tried to open his eye but could not. Then a voice sounded, sweet and calming. Not Cassandra’s voice, and not Amaraz’ mighty boom, either. It was a voice Lukien had never heard before, and it snatched him from sleep into something just on the verge of wakefulness.

He sat up, looking around, and yet he knew he had not truly awakened. A man stood in front of him, smiling, his face and hands shimmering like light on water. Neither old nor young, his features bore the same sharpness as the Akari statues Lukien had encountered in the square, with a long, dimpled chin and slightly turned-up ears. His clothing seemed Akari too, mostly loose-fitting robes pinned with a broach at his chest and sandals on his feet. His eyes were wide with curiosity.

‘What is this?’ Lukien asked. At once he heard his voice, echoing the way it had when he’d encountered Cassandra. ‘Is this the place of the dead?’

‘No, it is not,’ the man replied. ‘You are in your world, the world of men.’ He laughed happily. ‘You are the first to come here in more years than I could ever count! Who are you?’

‘Who am I? Who are you?’ Lukien got to his feet, keeping his distance. ‘I’m not awake, am I? This isn’t real.’

‘It isn’t a dream, if that’s what you’re thinking. You are still asleep, my friend. And you were the one who came to me, remember?’ The man pointed at the grave marker. ‘You touched my story stone.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Lukien offered, not really sure why he was apologizing. ‘I didn’t know. . story stone?’

‘There,’ said the man, again gesturing at the marker. ‘But you’re not an Akari. You don’t know what a story stone is, do you?’

‘It looked like a tombstone to me. I didn’t mean to disturb it.’

‘You delight me, friend. You didn’t disturb me — you called to me.’ The man who was not quite a man came closer. ‘My name is Raivik. I am an Akari. You know what that is, don’t you?’

Lukien nodded, still confused. ‘You are an Akari? Yet I can understand you. How is that possible?’

‘You wear something around your neck,’ said Raivik. ‘A relic of my people.’

‘You mean the Eye of God.’ Lukien touched the amulet immediately. In this dreamscape, his hand felt real and unreal at the same time. ‘Yes, I see. You are speaking in my mind.’

‘That’s right,’ the man assured him. ‘You have an Akari with you now. I sensed it the moment you called to me. I can feel him now. He makes my words real to you.’

‘You mean he’s translating?’ asked Lukien, pleased at the prospect of Amaraz helping him. ‘That could be, yes. But I didn’t call to you. Or at least I never meant to. I’m just travelling through here. I didn’t even think this city still held life.’

‘It does not,’ said Raivik. ‘We are all dead.’

‘Then this is the realm of the dead.’

‘No,’ the Akari corrected. ‘This is your world. You summoned me here. I am Raivik, and that is my story stone.’ He pointed at the marker. ‘And there is my house and this is my city, such as it is. When I was alive, like you, I dwelt in this place.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand,’ said Lukien. ‘If this isn’t the realm of the dead, then how are you able to speak to me? You are not my Akari; you’re not bound to me. I’m confused, Raivik.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ laughed the spirit. ‘You carry an Akari with you, yet you do not understand our ways? Strange.’ Again he gestured to the odd piece of rock. ‘That is my story stone. My family planted it there when I died, so that they could speak to me. They were summoners. Do you understand that much?’

‘I think so,’ said Lukien, remembering what little Minikin had told him of the Akari. The Akari of Grimhold were all dead members of Raivik’s race, willing to bind themselves to the living to help them. Summoners were the magicians among them. Amaraz had been a summoner, as had Kahldris. ‘A summoner was someone who could commune with the dead. But I’m not a summoner — how can I be talking to you?’

‘Through the story stone. That’s how it is here. If a summoner makes a story stone. . well, look here. .’ Raivik moved easily through the plants, pushing them aside, then knelt down next to the marker. ‘Come, friend, let me show you.’

Lukien went to stand beside the man. The whole thing seemed unbelievable, yet he had experienced so many oddities since meeting Minikin that this one seemed almost prosaic.

‘Those words,’ he said, pointing out the symbols carved along the stone. ‘What do they mean?’

‘That’s my story,’ Raivik declared proudly. ‘All about me. My family made this stone. They told my story here.’

Intrigued, Lukien knelt near the stone. ‘What does it say?’

‘It says that I am Raivik and that I was a great merchant. I sold garments and fabrics from all around this part of the world, and that I was trusted by my customers.’ Raivik’s face grew calm as he told the tale. ‘I had two sons and two daughters, and a wife named Jinia, my beloved. I brought this house for her when we were married.’

The story delighted Lukien. ‘Go on.’

Raivik caressed the stone as if it were an infant. ‘It says that I was loved.’ There was an odd silence as the Akari stared at the stone. He seemed to sigh. ‘But that is all over now. All gone.’ His hand fell away from the stone. ‘What is your name?’ he asked.

‘I am Lukien, from Liiria,’ Lukien answered. ‘But I’m also from Jador and Grimhold. You know those places, yes?’

Raivik wrinkled his nose. ‘I know those places, but how can you be from both of them? Grimhold is an Akari place, an outpost. Jador is, well, Jadori. The Jadori are our enemies.’

The statement puzzled Lukien. ‘Enemies? No, not any more. Not for hundreds of years.’

‘Because they killed us.’

‘No, because they have changed,’ said Lukien. ‘They’re not warlike any more. They’re peaceful. Don’t you know that?’

‘Lukien of Liiria, I know nothing more than what happened to me when I died. When the Jadori killed my people there were no more visitors to my stone to tell me what had happened in this world. You are the first.’

‘But how can that be? You’re an Akari. All the Akari know what’s happened. They-’

He stopped himself, remembering what Minikin had told him. Only the Akari of Grimhold lived in both worlds. It was one reason why they helped the Inhumans, so that they could live on in the normal, living world they adored.

‘Apologies,’ said Lukien. ‘I didn’t know. In Grimhold, where I come from, the Akari speak to the people. They have hosts, like me, and they live in the world.’ He gestured to the dark landscape and stars. ‘This world.’

The news enchanted Raivik. His face grew curious, then sad as he touched his story stone. ‘The people of Grimhold were slaughtered by the Jadori. They were among the first to die. Some of us could put ourselves into objects, but they were the summoners. Only the strongest of summoners, in fact.’ He reached out and nearly touched Lukien, letting his fingers hover over his chest. ‘This amulet you wear — it holds a summoner.’

‘That’s right,’ said Lukien. At last he pulled the Eye of God out from under his shirt, letting it dangle freely on its golden chain. ‘The Akari inside this amulet keeps me alive. He was a great summoner named Amaraz. Do you know of him?’

Raivik the dead merchant smiled. ‘May I touch it?’

Lukien nodded, and Raivik carefully held the amulet in his dream-made hands. A look of serenity filled his eyes.

‘I can feel him,’ he said. ‘He is very strong.’

‘Yes, he is,’ said Lukien. ‘I should have been dead a long time ago, many times, but Amaraz keeps me going. I have been told he was well known among your people.’

‘Indeed he was,’ said Raivik, ‘but I knew of him only through the stories I was told, here in this place. Amaraz lived after I died. I never knew him in life.’

‘And so you don’t know what else happened? After the Jadori killed your people, I mean?’

‘No, stranger, I do not.’ Raivik rose from his knees. ‘I know only what my family told me when they visited this place. Now they are with me in the world beyond this one. They are ignorant, like me.’ He looked imploringly at Lukien. ‘But you know all these things. You can tell me, Lukien, so that I may tell the others. Will you do that?’

Lukien laughed. ‘That’s a lot of history to explain, Raivik. And really, I don’t know much about your world. I do know that the Jadori have changed. They regret what they did to your people. They protect the people who live in Grimhold now. They’re called the Inhumans. I’m one of them, in a way.’

‘These Inhumans — they have Akari hosts?’

‘Many of them do, yes. They’re good people and the Akari help them. And because of what they did to your race, the Jadori protect Grimhold from the outside world. Once it was a secret, but no more.’ Lukien hesitated, unsure how much he should reveal. ‘The rest of the world knows about Grimhold now, but the Jadori still protect it. They’ve given a lot of blood for Grimhold, Raivik.’

‘Amazing,’ sighed the spirit. ‘I want to hear more, Lukien. I want to know everything!’

‘I don’t know everything, Raivik. I barely understood the things you told me, even. I’m not an expert on the Akari of Grimhold, or even about the Jadori.’ Lukien tried to be congenial, noting the change in Raivik’s expression. ‘I am sorry. I didn’t mean to summon you, though I am glad that I did. I didn’t expect to encounter anyone in the city.’

‘But you did come here,’ said Raivik. His curious eyes searched Lukien’s face. ‘Why?’

Lukien wandered back to the place where he had been sleeping, the place where — in the waking world — his body still lay asleep. ‘That’s rather hard to explain, Raivik. I’m looking for a place called the Serpent Kingdom.’

When he turned around again, Raivik was right behind him. ‘I know this place you seek,’ he said eagerly. ‘The Kingdom of the Serpents — Tharlara.’

‘I don’t know what it’s real name is,’ said Lukien. ‘I was only told to seek the Serpent Kingdom. Here, beyond the desert.’

‘There is only one place that could be called the Serpent Kingdom, and that is Tharlara,’ said Raivik. ‘The place of the giant snakes. The riverland.’

‘Giant snakes?’ Lukien recoiled. ‘You mean rass?’

‘Yes, the rass,’ acknowledged Raivik. His glowing hand pointed eastward. ‘You will find a river beyond the city. The river will take you to Tharlara.’

‘Toward the rass? I don’t know. .’

‘Tharlara is safe for you, Lukien. The people there will not harm you. They are quiet, though, and I do not know much about them.’

‘Forgive me, Raivik, but you’ve been dead for. . what? About a thousand years? You don’t know much more about the Serpent Kingdom than I do.’

The Akari looked wounded, but nodded. ‘You are right, of course. I can only tell you what I remember. The Tharlarans were never bothersome to us, though they did not trade much with us, either. They kept to themselves. I do not know what became of them.’

‘You’ve already helped me greatly, Raivik,’ said Lukien. ‘I’m grateful to you. I will follow the river as you have said.’

‘Forgive me, but I am curious. For what purpose?’ asked Raivik. ‘Why do you seek Tharlara?’

‘For a sword,’ said Lukien. He sat down again on his bedroll, remarkably calm despite the strange happenings. ‘I was told I could find it in the Serpent Kingdom.’

‘This is a special sword?’

‘Very. I need it to defeat someone, someone dear to me that’s been corrupted by a bad Akari.’

‘Bad Akari?’ Raivik’s eyes crinkled playfully. ‘There are no bad Akari, my friend. We are a great race. You must have discovered that by now.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Lukien. ‘Your people have impressed me, Raivik. But there is one Akari that’s not like the rest of you. Have you ever heard the name Kahldris?’

The spirit paled. ‘Kahldris.’ He spat the name like a curse. ‘Kahldris was a madman and butcher. He is not to be spoken of, Lukien.’

‘Kahldris has my friend in his control, Raivik. With his Devil’s Armour.’ Lukien leaned forward. ‘Do you know about the armour?’

‘All Akari know of the Devil’s Armour. It is an obscenity. Kahldris is part of the armour. He is encased in it, the way your Akari is encased inside your amulet. Kahldris made the armour for his brother, Malator, to use against the Jadori.’

Lukien’s eyebrows went up. ‘Malator? You do know a lot about the armour!’

‘It is known among us all,’ said Raivik. ‘The armour was taken to Grimhold to be hidden, so that no one would ever use it.’

‘That’s right. That much I know already. Please, Raivik, tell me more.’

‘Kahldris lived in the time of the Jadori wars. He was a general. He fought the Jadori.’

‘After you died?’ asked Lukien.

Raivik nodded. ‘Kahldris lived while I lived and beyond. I left this world before he did. My people were at war with the Jadori for years, Lukien. Kahldris and his brother battled them.’

‘This brother — Malator. I never heard of him,’ said Lukien, surprised that Minikin had never mentioned his name. ‘Tell me about him.’

‘Malator was a good man, not like his brother. But he was strong like Kahldris. He was a powerful summoner. When Kahldris made the armour, it was so that his brother might use it to defeat the Jadori. But Kahldris was already a butcher by then.’ Raivik closed his eyes in revulsion. ‘You would not the believe the stories of his brutality. Malator told his brother that he would wear the armour, but only so Kahldris would encase himself within it.’

‘Which he did,’ offered Lukien. ‘So it was a trick?’

‘Yes. Once Kahldris was encased in the armour he was no longer a threat. All Akari rejoiced when he was gone.’

‘And then the armour was moved to Grimhold, so that no one would ever use it.’ Lukien considered the logic of the move. ‘So what happened to Malator?’

‘I do not know. Nobody knows. Like you, he went off to seek the Serpent Kingdom, to ask the Tharlarans for their help against the Jadori. He never returned, though. Not long after. .’ Raivik looked around and shrugged. ‘All of this happened.’

There was a sad pause in Raivik’s story, as if there was no more to tell. But Lukien still wanted answers.

‘Raivik, how can it be that none of your people know where Malator is now? He must have died not long after you did. Yet you’ve never felt his presence? None of you have?’

‘It is not always that way, Lukien. If Malator wanted to come to us, then perhaps he could. I do not know for certain. I dwell in the world of the dead. Malator dwells in the world of the dead, too. But he need not come to me, or seek out another. His place is not my place. It is as I told you — I am bound to my world. I see my family and loved ones because they are part of me. They lived here, in my house. Do you see?’

Lukien tried gamely to understand, but it was all too arcane for him. He knew only that Malator had left for Tharlara, and that no one had ever heard from him again. At least not according to Raivik. And should he believe this long dead apparition? Lukien wasn’t sure.

‘Everything you’ve told me is like a huge text, Raivik,’ he admitted. ‘And I’m not studied enough to understand it all.’ Suddenly he felt the pull of his physical body, urging him to return. ‘I can’t stay much longer. Something doesn’t feel right.’

‘Your body is waking,’ said Raivik. ‘It is unused to all of this.’

‘This dream has to end,’ said Lukien. ‘You have to let me go now, Raivik.’

The Akari smiled sadly. ‘I have so enjoyed this, Lukien of Liiria. To talk to someone about the world — it has been magnificent. I wish you could stay forever and talk to me, but I know you cannot.’

Lukien shared the spirit’s remorse. He regretted having tantalized Raivik with the small gift of his presence. ‘Maybe we will see each other again someday,’ he said. ‘If I find the sword, I can return this way, perhaps.’

‘I would like that,’ said Raivik. ‘There is so much I want to know about the world. I miss it. Now, remember, my friend — follow the river.’

‘I will,’ replied Lukien, fighting to stay in the dream. The world around him began to dissolve, the house and trees slowly melting. ‘Thank you, Raivik. You have helped me a great deal.’

Raivik, the dead merchant of Kaliatha, raised a hand in good-bye as he shimmered out of view. A second later, Lukien felt his body again, falling into blackness before consciousness arrived. His eye fluttered open, feeling heavy and real. He saw the stars above, felt the cool air on his face. He breathed, sat up, and looked around the empty garden.

Without Raivik, the city seemed more dead than ever.