John Marco - The Forever Knight

“Chuluun, will you leave us?” asked Anton politely.

“If Lukien wills it,” Chuluun replied.

“Go on, get some sleep,” I told Chuluun. I knew Anton had something to ask me. I even knew what it was. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Chuluun gave Anton a courteous bow, then bent down as if to whisper to me. Instead he kissed the top of my head.

“Sleep well,” he said softly. “Dream of victory.”

He staggered out of the chamber, drunk on his feet, watched with surprise by Anton, who seemed almost jealous of the attention. We were just two, now. He had dismissed the servants long ago. For the first time in our long night, I noticed the blood stains still on the chamber’s ceiling. I reached out for my goblet then remembered it was empty. Anton clicked shut his silver spice case. He’d managed to stay awake with me, but his eyes were bloodshot and cried for sleep. Beside him still rested the large, unopened treasure chest.

“Is that the money you owe me?” I joked.

Anton turned his chair, stretching out his legs and resting his feet on the chest. “Did you kill the monster like you were supposed to?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“You told Diriel you’d bring the monster to him. Why’d you tell him that if you didn’t mean to kill it?”

“To buy us time. I needed to tell him something.”

“You’re lying, Lukien. I’ve made my living selling lies so I know one when I hear it. Besides that, you’re no good at it.” Anton’s voice slurred as he spoke. He reached for a dirty, nearly empty glass of wine, tipping drops from it to his outstretched tongue.

“Go easy now,” I warned. “We’ve got a fight tomorrow. Between the wine and that spice of yours you won’t be able to stand.”

“It’s the only thing that gives me courage,” said Anton. “They think I’m a coward, but I’m not. All my men-they think I have a flower in my chest instead of a heart. I’m not like that, you know.”

“I know, Anton,” I said. “I see that now.”

He smiled. “You called me Anton.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t betray me, Lukien,” he sighed. “Don’t give me to Diriel.”

“Is that what you think I’ve planned?”

Anton wiped his mouth. “I dunno. You told Marilius you were going to give Diriel what he wants. I thought that was the monster. But here you are, empty-handed as usual.” He pointed at my face. “Except for that new eye. I like that eye.”

“Anton, you’re drunk. Why don’t you go to sleep now?”

“Can’t. First you have to promise me. Promise me you won’t give me over to Diriel, Lukien. I figured it out. That’s the only way you can save yourself.”

“I don’t want to save myself, Anton. The last thing I want in this bleak world is to save myself.”

“Why?” He got out of his chair and shambled toward me. “Look at you-you’re young again! Beautiful, like me! You made a bargain with that thing inside your sword, didn’t you?”

“Only to have my vengeance. Do you believe me, Anton?”

He sat down on the table with a slump. “I suppose I have to. I’m sorry about the girl. Marilius told me what happened to her. It is right that your heart breaks for her, Lukien. But I did warn you of Diriel’s horrors.”

“You did,” I admitted. “But I never listen, you see. I’m the one who got her killed. Tomorrow I’ll make everything right.”

“All right,” he whispered. “If that’s the best answer I’m going to get. .” He pushed himself from the table, wobbling back to the big chest. He waved me closer. “Come. I have something for you.”

I was curious as I got out of my chair. The room swam a bit around my head, but I straightened and swallowed my nausea. The one thing Malator couldn’t cure was a hangover, it seemed. Anton stepped aside when I reached him, gesturing to the chest. There was no lock on it, just a latch keeping it closed.

“Open it,” he proffered.

I did and had to shut my eyes at the brightness of the contents. Gold, I thought at first, a whole chest of it! But when my sight adjusted and my thinking cleared, I recognized the shining helmet staring back at me, the very perfection of handmade armor. It was my own, bronze and beautiful, better than new, and it blinded me with its glittering. I must have said something, because I remember my mouth falling open in awe.

“You like?”

I touched the helmet, then the gleaming breastplate beneath. I’d last seen it ruined, first by weeks of dusty travel, then by Crezil’s brutal battering. I’d left it in Isowon, dented and forgotten. But here it was again, reborn, more like gold than bronze, a suit of shining precious metal.

“Anton,” I lifted the helmet out of the chest, “how?”

“I like shiny things, Lukien. I have many smiths and jewelers here in Isowon to make my world pretty. Fixing your armor wasn’t easy. The monster left it quite a mess. It’s amazing what real craftsmen can do, no?”

“It is,” I agreed. “Almost perfect.”

I was tempted to try the helmet but didn’t. I just stared at my reflection in its surface, the way the finish distorted my face, and saw my giant smile. My armor was new again, like me. I wondered if Anton knew how great a gift he’d given me.

“Any debts you owe me are paid,” I told him. “This is better payment than anything else you could offer.”

“Good,” said Anton, “because I can’t afford anything else. Even if we win tomorrow, I will have to rebuild.”

“But you’ll still have Isowon. You’ll have a home.”

“You can stay if you wish, Lukien. After the battle, I mean.”

“No, Anton, thank you. If I live tomorrow I’ll return to Jador.”

“And if you die at least you’ll be well dressed!” he laughed. “You should go to heaven looking your best.”

I put the helmet down slowly. “I can’t go to heaven, Anton, remember? I have no soul. No heaven would take me.”

Anton thought about that for a while. He blinked a few times, then said, “I am very drunk.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I should sleep.”

“We should both sleep.”

He staggered toward the open doors, taking the last bit of merriment with him. But before he exited he paused one last time to comfort me.

“Don’t worry about heaven, Lukien,” he slurred. “You can’t die.”

The logic of a drunken man. “Thank you, Anton,” I said. I picked up my helmet again. “And thank you for this.”

He waved and mumbled something and then was gone. A manservant appeared suddenly in the doorway, peering inside the chamber.

“Sir Lukien? Can I help you to your room?”

“Thank you,” I answered. “I think that would be best.”

“I’ll have your armor brought up to you,” said the man. “It will be waiting for you when you wake.”

A sad thought crashed my brain. “I’ll need help with it tomorrow,” I said. “To dress for battle. I’ve lost my squire.”

The servant smiled with pity. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry.”

“I loved her.”

“Yes,” said the man. He came to me and took my arm. “I’m sure she knew that.”

I looked at him. It was the wine, I knew, but nothing made sense to me suddenly. “Do you think so? I want to believe that. How can I be sure?”

He got me on my feet, smoothed down my wrinkled shirt, and said, “I’m sure you told her so, sir, even if you never said a word.”

Then he pointed me toward the doors, gave me a gentle nudge, and followed me all the way to my private chamber, where the softest bed in the world lulled me instantly to sleep.

I slept a drunkard’s sleep, deep and troubled, my mind far from the world where my body lay in soft, expensive sheets. I’d once had a fever when I was a boy, sleeping in the streets of Koth beneath a blacksmith’s shop; a fever in which every monster my mind could conjure visited and chased me in my sleep, and every time my eyes opened I screamed, because the sickness was so thick in my body I could not stay awake. The next morning, when the fever finally broke, the monsters left me, but the terror of that night always remained.