John Marco - The Forever Knight

“A deal then,” I proposed. “You tell us why Fallon needs me so badly, and I’ll tell you what it’s like to be immortal.”

“Ooh, tempting,” smacked Marilius. “But no.”

“Why not?” asked Cricket. “We’re gonna find out once we get there. Just tell us now and save us the bother.”

“Nah, he won’t do that, Cricket,” I said. “He’s gotta keep his secret, otherwise we might not go with him. Must be something pretty bad, though, since he’s not willing to tell us.”

“Is it bad, Marilius?” asked Cricket.

Marilius shrugged. “Let’s just say it’s interesting.”

“Yeah, but you want to tell us,” pressed Cricket. “I can tell you do.”

“But I won’t,” Marilius snorted. “Now can we be quiet?”

“What’s the problem? Seriously, what’s Fallon need us for?”

“He needs Lukien,” Marilius corrected her. “You’re just along for the ride.”

“So are you, apparently,” I said. “Whatever it is, it’s something you can’t handle. . Captain .”

This time Marilius didn’t answer. He pretended to scan the scrubby horizon. We were in the flat lands now, in the very heart of the Bitter Kingdoms. An occasional, dilapidated farm appeared as we rode, crops struggling in the hardscrabble earth. To the east loomed Zura, Sariyah’s dreamed-of spice lands. Near the mountains up north waited Akyre. Isowon was a day’s ride south and east, an isthmus of land Fallon’s fortune had turned into a garden, or so Marilius claimed. I dreamed of its promised water, so clear and turquoise you could see a rainbow of coral at its bottom.

“Okay,” Cricket said finally. “Just tell us about Fallon, then. What’s he like?”

“Rich,” said Marilius.

“We know that already. What else? Why’s he got so many men?”

“Why shouldn’t he? He can afford them.”

“Seems to me they’re not doing him much good,” I said. “I’ve got a feeling your employer isn’t so innocent around here, Marilius. If you’re bringing us to help him make war, you’re wasting your time.”

“Oh right, I forgot,” said Marilius. “You’re not a mercenary anymore.”

“That’s right.”

“Look around, Lukien. You’re in the Bitter Kingdoms now. War’s a way of life here. Tell him, Cricket.”

Cricket grimaced. “I can’t.”

Marilius looked at her. “What’s that mean?”

“It means she can’t remember,” I said. “She’s forgotten everything. What do you think can make someone forget everything they know, Marilius?”

“Damned if I know,” said Marilius.

“Damned sounds about right to me,” I said, and kept on riding.

* * *

The rest of that day we met not a single traveler on the road. We stopped as needed but made steady progress through the afternoon, all of us keeping our questions to ourselves. Malator continued to ignore my efforts to rouse him. I didn’t know if Akari ever got sick, but now I was worried. It wasn’t just a foul mood keeping him quiet this time. This time, he’d pushed himself too far. Both Cricket and Marilius rode in a sort of bored trance. I fixed my mind on Malator.

I can feel you, Malator , I said, imagining myself deep inside the sword. Just tell me you’re all right, and I’ll let you sleep.

For a long moment there was nothing. Then, at last, he stirred.

Sleep. .

I chuckled to myself. “Good!”

Cricket perked up. “What’s good?”

“Malator. He’s. .” I stopped myself. Marilius stared at me, puzzled. “Nothing.”

“Talking to your ghost friend, Lukien?” he asked.

“Keep riding, Norvan,” I replied. Then, quietly in my head, I said to Malator, Just sleep now. We’ll talk soon .

He slipped away like a drowsy child. The sun disappeared behind incoming clouds. I peered at the darkening horizon, surprised to see another group traveling toward us.

“Look,” said Cricket. “People!”

Next to me, Marilius stiffened. His gaze narrowed as they came into view.

“Soldiers?” I ventured.

“No,” said Marilius. He dropped his guard with a sigh. “Refugees.”

Next to me, Cricket went white. A single ox-drawn wagon shambled toward us, piled high with furniture, bundles of clothing, dilapidated crates-all manner of belongings. A dozen people trudged alongside it, thick with the dust of the road. Atop the wagon, teetering at the pinnacle of their possessions, sat a single, lonely child.

“Where are they from?” asked Cricket. She looked at Marilius. “Do you know?”

Marilius shrugged. “Could be anywhere. Maybe Drin. Or Kasse.”

“Maybe Akyre?”

“Sure, maybe.”

“No sense in wondering,” I said and rode forward.

The refugees stopped as we approached, bringing their pair of oxen to a halt. Three men gathered to greet me, shielding the others. I counted thirteen in all, at least four of them women. The boy-I could tell now he was a boy-was the only child among them. His blank eyes studied me behind a mask of grime. I raised a hand in greeting.

“Heading west?”

The group looked me over. A single man in a torn brown hat stepped forward, his grizzled face flaked with sunburn. He had farmer’s hands, hammy with great big knuckles.

“You coming from that way?” he asked.

“That’s right,” I replied. No matter where they come from, refugees only want to know one thing. “No troubles on the road. Should be safe for you.”

His forehead crinkled. “You from Norvor? You sound like a Norvan.”

“I’ve spent some time there,” I answered. “We’re bound for Zura. You?”

The man wilted at the question. “Anywhere safe that’ll take us. It’s good you’re heading east. Stay clear of the north. Diriel’s soldiers crossed the border. Took over both our farms, took our livestock ’cept for these two.” The man’s face twitched, on the verge of tears. “Torched the house.”

Now I could see these were two different families. Neighbors, probably, who’d taken everything they could with them.

“Are you from Akyre?” asked Cricket. She didn’t address the men, though. Instead she spoke directly to the boy. The man with the hat answered for him.

“We’re from Kasse.”

“Southeast of Akyre,” Marilius explained. “On the border. They’ve been warring with King Diriel for a year.”

“No more,” said the man. “Diriel’s taken Kasse. Calls himself ‘Emperor’ now. Almost all the old provinces have fallen. Not Drin, though.”

I didn’t know much about Akyre or its history, just whatever bits Cricket could remember. “How’s that possible?” I asked. “It’s always been a stalemate down here. How’d Diriel get so powerful?”

The man looked at his cohorts, but none of them answered. A woman in the background whispered a warning to him. The man scratched his sunburned cheek.

“Can’t say,” he said.

“Can’t?” I worked to hide my annoyance. “A friend of mine told me about Diriel. Told me about his army. Told me they were dead men. Is that what’s got you scared?”

Marilius shifted in his saddle. “Lukien, don’t.”

The man took off his hat to fan his face. “We gotta move on.”

“No,” Cricket insisted. “Just wait. We need to know what you saw. Please!”

They all fell silent.

“They won’t tell you,” said Marilius. “Just let ’em go.”

“What about you?” asked Cricket, looking up at the boy. “Will you tell me what you saw?”

The boy-maybe seven years old-nodded. “The legion of the lost.”

“Tomas!” shrieked one of the woman.

I looked at the man with the brown hat. “You can be a big help if you’d tell us. Anything about Diriel, Akyre. .”