'Quiet!" he cried, and drove his dagger through Mor's windpipe. The flesh exploded with blood. Mor fell backward into Akeela, who stood in horror at what he had done, watching as Mor clutched at his throat. Blood sluiced from the wound, drenching both of them. Akeela dropped his dagger and began to scream.
'Breck!"
When Breck saw Akeela, his jaw fell open and his face went white. Akeela was out in the open, unarmed and wailing, Mor crumpled at his feet. The world around Akeela slipped into darkness. He heard voices, saw men charging at him from both directions, and all he could do was stand there. Terror seized him; Mor's blood drenched him. And Virez and his men were streaming forward, clashing against his own shocked troops. Breck threw himself into the melee, joining his outnumbered men as Hogon and the others struggled forward. The air filled with screams. Akeela realized suddenly that he was screaming, too. A man was charging toward him, sword drawn, legs pumping as he fought to reach his quarry.Akeela raised his hands uselessly against his attacker, sure that he would die.
'King Akeela, run!" screamed a voice. Chancellor Hogon thundered forward on his horse. With one smooth move he arced his broadsword through the air, slicing off the offender's arm. The man screamed and fell backward. Hogon spun his horse toward Akeela.
'Run, my lord, run!" he commanded. "Get to safety!"
So Akeela ran. Finding just enough courage to flee, he headed for the gate just as Raxor came through. The War Minister of Reec gave him a disgruntled look, then moved his horse aside to let the young king pass.
he armies of Hogon and Raxor easily outnumbered the Norvans. Without a king or general to lead them, the defenders of Breck's voice softened, gently prodding, "Akeela? Are you all right?"
'You won," replied Akeela. His tear-stained face smiled awkwardly. "I saw it all from here."
'Yes." Breck chanced a step closer. His sword was sheathed and his hair was matted with filth, but he was uninjured. "My lord, why didn't you answer me when I called?"
Akeela shrugged. "I don't know." He held out a bloodstained hand. "It won't come off. I've tried all day, but I can't get it off me."
Breck came and knelt before him. "Oh, Akeela," he sighed. "Don't worry. You'll be all right."
'Me?" Akeela laughed. "Why shouldn't I be all right?"
'I warned you," said Breck. "I told you not to do this. You're not a bloody soldier!"
'Why are you looking at me like that? I told you, I'm fine."
But even Akeela knew he wasn't fine. Something inside had snapped the moment he'd killed Mor, the moment the old man's blood spurted against his face. "We have to get back to Luria," he said. "I have to see Cassandra." His smile was fractured. "I'm going to tell her how we conquered the fortress."
Breck took Akeela's hand and gently pulled him to his feet. "All right, my lord. Let's just get you home."
T _1_ he desert, Lukien quickly learned, was a place of mirages.
Each day when the sun rose, the sands shifted with the wind, forming pools of watery sunlight on the earth. The dunes seemed to move as if alive, and the dust storms sang in the distance, warning of their approach. There were no trees or rain clouds, only occasional, life-giving cacti; the sun was a constant companion, blithely watching the caravan invading its burning realm. Scorpions and lizards skittered along the rocks, and the bleached bones of unlucky drowa stuck out like guideposts among the shifting sands.
Time moved unhurriedly, like syrup, and the vast expanse of nothingness drowned every thought. For five days the travelers had endured the rigors of the desert. Now, unbelievably, their journey was nearing its end. The caravan leader Jebel had told them that Jador was very near, maybe another half-day's ride, maybe less. But the news did little to buoy the mood of Lukien and his companions. Despite the gaka and headdress he wore, the exposed flesh of his hands and around his eyes had been burned red. Old Figgis had fared no better, and Trager never spoke at all, except to curse the heat. Lukien knew they needed to reach Jador quickly, or else be sick from heatstroke. They didn't want water or the temporary shelter of wagons any more; they wanted an end to the taunting sands.
Lukien kept his drowa near the strange wagons as he rode, letting Jebel and Figgis lead the way.
Trager kept to the rear of the caravan. After five days of riding, he still hadn't mastered the ill-tempered drowa, and occasionally grumbled at the beast to behave. Lukien himself had grown accustomed to the humped monster, though his back ached from its loping gait. He had named his drowa Mirage in honor of the shimmerings on the horizon. The beast already seemed to know its name and didn't question Lukien's commands. Surprisingly, Lukien liked his silent companion. Drowas were remarkable, and far better suited to the desert than horses. They were powerful and swift when they had to be, and, according to Jebel, the females gave milk to feed their masters. Lukien had already tried drowa milk and thought it disgusting, but it didn't keep him from admiring the beasts. In the deathlike Desert of Tears, he was grateful for them.
At mid-afternoon the sun was hottest, and Lukien drew his headdress around his face so that only his eyes peered through. Beneath his gaka, sweat poured from his body. In the wagon next to him, Cahra and two of her younger sisters were watching him, swaying lazily to the rhythm of the caravan. Cahrawasn't like her siblings. She was the oldest of Jebel's children and so enjoyed a measure of freedom that made her talkative. She had already exhausted Figgis with questions of Luria and the lands to the north, surprising them all by speaking their language. Jebel explained that all his children spoke the tongue of the northern lands, because they were traders and needed to be fluent. Cahra had a surprising command of the language. The idea that desert people were quiet simply didn't apply to her.
'Lukien is thirsty," she said. She had a peculiar way of addressing him, but he had gotten used to it.
"Water?"
'Yes," said Lukien. He sidled up to the wagon, careful to avoid its wide, sand-churning wheels. Cahra told her sister Miva to fetch a waterskin. The youngster did so and held it out for Lukien with a smile.
"Thank you," said Lukien, then lowered his face wrap and took a conservative drink. The water was remarkably cool, and Lukien didn't want to stop. But he capped the skin and handed it back to Miva.
Neither Miva nor her sisters took a drink themselves.
'Your father says that we'll reach Jador by tomorrow," said Lukien as he fixed the cloth about his face.
'Or sooner," said Cahra. She continued to watch him.
'By nightfall?"
'Maybe."
Lukien looked ahead. All he could see was more and more rolling sand. "Tomorrow, I'd say."
Cahra chuckled. "The desert fools you. Do not expect things. Jador could be right in front of us, and the desert would hide it."
'It's perfectly clear today. If Jador were ahead of us, I'd know."
The girl continued to study him, her dark eyes full of curiosity. Because the wagon provided cover, she no longer wore her headdress. Instead she let her hair fall around her shoulders. More and more, she reminded Lukien of Cassandra. "You are strange," she said. "You do not talk like the old one."
'You mean Figgis? No, no one talks like Figgis. He's impossible to shut up."
'You are quiet, like the other one." Cahra spied Trager. "That one is sour like a grape."
Lukien nodded. "That's our Trager."
'You do not like each other." Cahra leaned forward. "Why?"
'It's a long story, girl, and not very interesting."
'He calls you captain. He is your servant?"
'Something like that," said Lukien. "He serves under me, in the Royal Chargers."
'In Luria," said Cahra brightly. "Figgis told me about Luria. He says that your king is a great man, and that he wants to make peace with the world. That is why you are going to Jador, yes?"
Lukien hated to lie to the girl, but he said, "Yes, that's right. We're emissaries from our king."
Cahra struggled with the word. "Em-a-sair-ee?"
'Emissaries. Like friends. We're going to make friends with Jador." He gestured to the packs hanging from his drowa's haunches. "We've brought gifts for the kahan and kahana, to show them we want peace and friendship."
'Your king is generous," said Cahra. "Tell us about him. We are all interested."
Miva and the other girl, Yilena, had gathered closer to listen. "What do you want to know?" asked Lukien.
'Oh yes," said Lukien softly.
Cahra's eyes narrowed on him. "The queen is special to you."
'Why do you say that?"
'Your voice. It changes when you speak of her." Cahra looked at her bare feet dangling off the side of the wagon. "Forgive me. If you do not wish to speak of her..."
'No," said Lukien. "I don't mind. It's just that Queen Cassandra is very ill. She may not survive. I'm worried about her, that's all. And I'm worried about Akeela."
'Yes, I can tell. You think of them often. They are both special to you."
Lukien grinned. "You should be a fortune-teller, Cahra." Then he sighed. "I don't want to talk about Luria any more. It's your turn to talk. Tell me about Jador." 'You will see Jador soon enough."
'Prepare me, then. What's it like?"
The girl thought for a moment. "It is pretty."
'Like Ganjor?"
'No. Ganjor is dirty. Jador is clean and beautiful. All white."
'But how do they live in the desert?" asked Lukien. "Ganjor is near the Agora River. What do the Jadori do for water?"
'Jador has a river. It comes from the mountains. And Jador is not in the desert. It is like the start of a new world."
'New world? You mean there's more beyond the desert than Jador?"
Cahra looked away as if being caught in a lie. "There is always more," she said evasively.
'What's beyond Jador?"
'I told you-the mountains ."
'And after the mountains? What's beyond them?"
Cahra shrugged. "I do now know. I have never been."
Lukien could tell the girl was hiding something. "But you must have some idea. Are there other countries past Jador? More people like them, perhaps?"
'There must be people beyond the mountains," said Cahra simply. "The world is large."
'Yes," said Lukien. "I suppose." He wasn't satisfied with the 'A story."
'What?"
Cahra smiled. "Ganjeese are story people. We tell our history in stories. So now you tell us about your king and his story. If he is a great king, he will have a great story."
Lukien thought for a moment. Was Akeela a great king? A great humanitarian perhaps, but he had ruled Luria too short a time to be called a great king.
'There are no stories about Akeela," said Lukien. "I've known him all my life, and can't think of a single one."
'But that is a story," argued Cahra. "You and him, together. If you have known him all your life, then that is his story, and yours. Tell us. It will pass the time."
Knowing that he had nothing but time on his hands, Lukien agreed. He told them of Akeela, and how he was a good man with big visions for Luria, a man of peace and justice, and he told them how he had met Akeela in the streets of Koth. Cahra and her sisters listened, enthralled, as Lukien told of growing up in Lionkeep as ward to King Balak, like a brother to Akeela, and how they had attended war college together. Lukien bragged about his own exploits as a soldier. He had posted almost identical grades as Trager, he said, but he was the better soldier by far, and that was why he was Captain of the Royal Chargers. Cahra smiled at the boast but let Lukien continue, and for almost an hour he regaled them with tales of wars and soldiering and his comradeship with Akeela, which he explained was stormy at times but was quick to point out how much they truly, truly, loved each other.
'Brothers are like that, you know," Lukien stressed, knowing it was for his own sake that he took such pains to explain things. Cahra listened and seemed intrigued by this, even suspicious, yet still she said nothing. Finally Lukien came to the part in his story where King Balak died, leaving his throne to Akeela. He told them about Reec, and how Akeela was determined to make peace with them, and how King Karis had greeted Akeela warmly, even after years of war. Finally, he told them about Cassandra.
'Ah, so your king has a woman," said Cahra. "Tell us about her. Is she very beautiful?"
Lukien smiled at him. "I'm glad for you, Figgis. Enjoy this moment."
Jebel overheard the conversation and looked at Figgis oddly. "All your life? To make this simple trip?"
'Simple for you, maybe," said Figgis. "But not for me, or anyone else from the north." He smiled at Jebel. "You have done me a great service, my friend, and I'm grateful. Seeing Jador was always my greatest dream. And now..." He sighed, taking in all of the desert city's glory. "Now I feel like I could cry."
'Please, don't," said Trager. "Spare us that at least, will you? We have a mission, old man. Remember that." Lukien shot Trager a warning glance. "Easy."
'Yes, your mission," said Jebel, nodding. "You will want to see Kahan Kadar quickly."
'If possible," said Lukien. "But will that be difficult? He's the kahan, after all. Where do we start?"
Jebel pointed toward the city. "The green tower," he said simply.
Lukien squinted and saw a cylinder of lime-colored stone rising from the city streets. "What is it?"
'Kadar's palace. You will go there, speak to the kahan."
'And he will see us?" asked Trager. "Just like that?"
Jebel laughed. "You do not know Kahan Kadar."
'No, I don't," said Trager. "Tell me."
Jebel looked at Trager. He replied, "Even you will be welcomed by Kadar."
Lukien didn't laugh. "I just hope you're right, Jebel. We've come so far; I don't want to be turned away now."
'When Kadar learns you are emissaries, he will welcome you," said Jebel.
'Emissaries," said Lukien sourly. "Right."
None of them had told Jebel the truth of their mission, and now that they had reached Jador Lukien felt a familiar pang of guilt. As they rode toward the city's main avenue, he noticed that none of the men were armed. Just as there were no soldiers or gates barring the way, there were no swords or daggers, and none of the drowa or kreel were armored, the way horses often were in the north. Lukien recalled what Figgis had told him-that the answer, but decided not to push. He was about to change the subject when he heard a shout.
'Lukien, Trager, look!" cried Figgis gleefully. Lukien looked at the librarian. He was pointing to something ahead, something vast and long on the horizon. After days of endless sand, Lukien had to think for a moment before recognizing the things for what they were-mountains. "I'll be damned..."
Cahra laughed. "You see? The desert is a trickster." Lukien shielded his eyes with a hand. "Jador?"
"Almost," said Cahra. She spied the mountains coming into view. "You will see it soon." l't'tahan Kadar's city of white and gold sprawled at the base of a brooding mountain range, shining like a beacon across the burning sands. It was tall with towers and domes and lined with limestone streets, and it rivaled Koth in size and beauty. There was no city gate to guard it, only a welcoming avenue down its center. Green trees served as sentries to the city, bursting with fruit and swaying lazily in the desert breeze, while a winding aqueduct roamed above the roads, bringing water down from the distant mountains. The streets of Jador bustled with caravans from around the desert, swarming in and out of the city's many streets.
There were drowa everywhere and dark-skinned people much like Jebel's clan. And there were kreels.
From his place on the outskirts of the city, Lukien could see the fleet-footed lizards scrambling through avenues, some being ridden, others pulling trading carts. After five days in the desert, it was like a dream to Lukien, and he watched it wide-eyed from the confines of his cowl, eager to reach the gleaming city.