John Marco - The Forever Knight

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It has. . power.”

“A spirit?”

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

Sariyah frowned. “Like death.”

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

Or maybe I was riding toward it.

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

Sariyah described Arad a day before we arrived. When I finally saw the city for myself, I realized he had lied by calling it a ‘cesspit.’ Like most desert people, Sariyah was too polite.

There are places in the world where laws are meaningless and human life holds no regard. I had seen those kinds of places in Norvor, a fractured country where I’d spent far too much of my life, and as I rode into Arad I smelled that same stink of debauchery. Arad, a city just beyond the borders of both the continent and the desert, was how the Bitter Kingdoms greeted new comers, where all the effluence of those places sloshed together in a pool of human vices. We were no more than a minute past the city outskirts when I saw the crowded slave market.

“Cricket,” I said, trying to get her attention, but it was too late. She gaped at the men and women on the rickety stage, surrounded by onlookers. A naked woman stood before the crowd, sucking the finger of a prospective buyer as he roughly checked her teeth. Men from the continent and men from the desert leered at the woman, their pockets bulging with money.

Sariyah brought his drowa up quickly, blocking the market from Cricket’s view. She looked stunned and frightened.

“Never mind it,” I told her.

“But that woman-”

“Never mind it.”

Sariyah’s son Asadel rode up as if to protect her, and suddenly Cricket was surrounded. She craned her neck to see between us. The gambling halls spilled drunks into the streets. Stray dogs ran through the crowded market. There were children, too, some of them playing barefoot among the stalls, others skulking like orphans in the alleys. Men in unremarkable uniforms laughed as they wandered aimlessly through the streets. I knew at once they were mercenaries. The city had no tall buildings or great cathedrals, nothing that would draw a traveler other than its prostitutes.

“Any vice can be brought in Arad,” Sariyah had told me, confiding it to me as we fell asleep in the desert the night before. He was afraid for Cricket, that was plain, and now I knew why. I kept one hand low toward my sword as we rode, aware of Malator’s presence in my mind. There were no quips from him this time. Instead, I could feel his vigilance.

Sariyah spoke in a low voice to his sons, his Ganjeese words too soft for me to understand. Cricket kept her pony close as we rode past the markets of the city’s main road, watching with disgust as an old man pissed against a house. Chickens screamed in a nearby stall while a crusty-looking butcher cut their heads off with a cleaver. I glanced ahead of us, hoping to find a spot to stop. I wanted a bed with a real pillow. I wanted food that didn’t come out of a saddlebag. Mostly, though, I wanted to get Cricket somewhere safe. I looked at her. She seemed mesmerized.

“This look familiar to you?” I asked. “Any of it?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her dark eyes studied everything. Her face had a hardness a girl her age should never have.

“No,” she said finally.

“No? You sure?”

She looked at me sharply. “I’m sure, Lukien. I’m sorry, no.”

Sariyah talked to his sons while Cricket and I rode ahead. A crowd was gathered on the side of the street, where a barker called them to attention. A boy moved quickly through the throng collecting bets. A patchy spot of grass had been cleared away on the roadside.

That’s when I first saw him. His shaved, shining head.

Sometimes you see a thing and just have to stare. I once saw a cat choking on a lizard, with just the tail and hind legs sticking out of its mouth. This man was like that-an obscenity. Stripped to the waist, big hands resting on his hips, chest puffed out like a robin’s. Taller than me, taller than Sariyah, he taunted the crowd, his nostrils flaring as the barker sought a challenger. Ropey sinew bulged on the back of his neck. His hairless body flexed one muscle at a time, like some sideshow freak. I couldn’t imagine what had given him such a physique, both mountainous and willowy, and when he looked at me his eyes got wide and curious. His smile seemed to call me down from my horse.

“A wrestler,” said Sariyah, coming up beside me on his drowa. “They are all criminals here. Bodyguards mostly. Come, Lukien. .”

But my gaze wouldn’t leave the man.

“Hey.” Sariyah reached out and tapped my face. “He goads you. Enough now.”

I don’t know why I wanted to fight the wrestler, but I did. You only had to look at him once to hate him. When another man stepped out of the crowd-someone dumb enough to take the barker’s bet-Sariyah looked relieved. He turned his drowa toward the road, his sons quickly following. Cricket waited for me, her eyes glazed.

“We’ll find a place,” I told her. “Someplace safe and away from all this noise.”

“We need water, at least. And a place for the horses.”

“And beds for us and good food,” I added with a smile. “We made it across the desert. We should be happy for that.”

My words put a little bounce into her as we followed after Sariyah. We rode out into the middle of the street, away from the crowds and shouting. Sariyah came to a stop and looked around, a long bead of spit dribbling from the mouth of his drowa.

“It needs rest,” I said. Drowas are hearty beasts but not indestructible.

“She’ll rest when we are ready,” said Sariyah. His sons remained quiet. Sariyah sighed. “Akyre is north and east. South and east is Mosvar, and the road to Zura. Beyond Arad is scrub land, then forest in all directions.”

“The Bitter Kingdoms,” I said, unimpressed with what I’d seen so far. “Let’s stop now. Then we’ll talk.”

“We do not stop, not here. Not us,” said Sariyah. “We go south and east.”

“What, now? Sariyah, we need to rest, get fresh supplies. .”

“Lukien, we are people of Vala. We cannot stop here, not even for a sip of water.”

“Sariyah, look at your animals,” said Cricket. “They won’t make it.”

“We’ll camp beyond the city tonight. The drowa can rest there, and rest is all they need for now.” Sariyah looked at me. “ Azizi , I will ask you this, though I know you will refuse me-come with us to Zura. Come with us and forget whatever it is you came here for.”

“He came here for me,” said Cricket.