John Marco - The Forever Knight

“You look anxious,” I said. “Are you?”

“Anxious. Terrified.” Marilius put his hand on his sword. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You checked your sword already. Leave it. Remember what I told you when we faced Crezil-when the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

“This isn’t like that, though.”

“No,” I agreed. “It’s much worse than that.”

Marilius laughed nervously. “How come you’re not afraid, then?”

I thought for a moment. I searched myself for fear. Maybe it was because I had no soul. Or maybe I wanted to die. “You’re right. I’m not afraid,” I said. “But I wish I could be. The only fearless people I’ve ever known have all been madmen. Maybe I’m one of them now.”

“Maybe it’ll come back when this is over,” said Marilius.

“What? My soul?” I shook my head. “That’s gone for good.”

“Your sanity, then. Maybe when you finally get home, it’ll be there waiting for you.”

I smiled beneath my bronze helmet. “I like that. I’ll remember it.”

“Why are you bringing two horses, Lukien?” asked Marilius. “I know you don’t have much luck keeping them alive, but still. .”

“I have a plan. Don’t ask me to tell you what it is, because I won’t.”

“You’re asking all of us to trust you, but you don’t trust us. I have to say, I’m not inspired.”

“Marilius, if this is going to work you need to stop thinking so much. Worry less about what I’m doing out there and more about what you’re doing. Use your wits to keep your men alive, not to untangle my motives.”

“All right,” he grunted. “But I’m going with you when you ride out to see Diriel.”

“I want you all there,” I said. “Kiryk, Chuluun, and Sariyah too. I want the Akyrens to see what they’re up against.”

“Why? Diriel won’t care. He already knows.”

“Fuck Diriel. I want his men to see us.”

* * *

A horde.

That’s what I saw when I reached the battlefield.

Horses and dogs. Archers and infantry. Dirty conscripts, dead-eyed Akyrens, pikes pointed skyward, flaccid banners of a ruined country. Eager, soaring buzzards. A vast, badly stitched quilt of legionnaires and starved slaves, of Drinmen and Kassens in chains, of swords and hammers, of wagons, of war sleds, of terror and disillusionment. Bringers of death. Bringers of worse than death. Made whole by the whips of madmen, and a king on a chariot adorned with peacock feathers.

From a berm in the sand I watched with the wind in my face. Diriel had rolled out from his horde when he saw me on the hill. He drove his chariot through his front line of dogs and conscripts. My own men-my four tiny armies-waited in perfect formation, facing the black wave from Akyre. In front were Marilius’s mercenaries, lined up in three tight rows of infantry and horsemen. Kiryk and his Silver Dragons held the north flank, bolstered by other Drinmen who’d heard the call. A contingent of Zurans and Bogati horsemen secured the south flank to my left, not really under the command of anyone. There was no way to hold them back, I knew, so I’d given them no orders at all. Once the fighting started, they’d fly into battle.

We were outnumbered in every way I’d feared, except for horses, where we had the advantage. We were also better rested and better fed. But we were half as many as our enemies. Even with all our horses and all our axes, I still didn’t know how we’d take so many heads. The conscripts posed no threat at all. But the legionnaires. .

I spied them from the berm, counting and sizing them up. There were at least as many as I’d seen at Diriel’s castle. They wore collars now to protect their necks, thick leather bands they’d started using after their brief war with Drin. I knew they wouldn’t stop the Sword of Angels, but I worried about the battle-axes. Sariyah, who sat next to me upon his horse, rested his big axe on his shoulder and scanned the field for Asadel. Chuluun galloped out from the Bogati, and Marilius called up from the bottom of the berm.

“That’s Diriel,” he said, pointing at the approaching chariot.

“I see him,” I replied, then guided my nameless horse slowly down the sandhill, leaving Venger in the care of a young servant boy. His name was Cern, and he promised to protect Venger with his life. It was the kind of loyalty I didn’t expect from one of Isowon’s puffy young men. I believed him enough to trust him, and he’d be far enough from the fighting to keep himself alive.

I reached the bottom of the berm-my sandy command post-and didn’t say a word as Chuluun and Marilius wheeled their horses to flank me. Sariyah came after me, equally silent, and as we trotted forward, Kiryk broke away from his men to join us. Our troops watched silently as we rode out together toward Diriel, whose own contingent gathered around his chariot. We had agreed to meet in the spot between our facing armies. Amazingly, Diriel had brought Grecht, the midget from his castle, the one who’d greeted me and Cricket at the bridge. He bounced out in front of Diriel’s chariot like a weird little herald, carrying an already tattered flag and, I think, whistling.

“Who is that?” whispered Chuluun when he saw Grecht. He rode slowly at my side, scimitar sheathed, unable to take his eyes off the midget.

“If only they were all that size!” said Kiryk.

I took the point, letting the others fan out behind me, matching Diriel’s deliberate speed. Four legionnaires came with him on horseback, the only four with perfect uniforms, I supposed, each of them pale and expressionless. And, as I’d hoped, Wrestler was with them. His bald head caught my eye at once, gleaming and helmetless, with a sword at his side and his loose black clothes draping his uncanny body. He smiled, a grin I felt more than saw, a laughing, contemptuous leer aimed right at me. He almost looked like he’d grown since our fight, his arms more apelike, his chest even more like a beer keg. Finally, I’d be close enough to kill him.

At last Diriel’s chariot came to a stop, and the king himself dropped the reins of his twin horses and stepped down on the battlefield. Grecht performed what looked like a curtsy, then stepped aside for Diriel to pass. I jerked my horse to a halt just a few paces in front of him. His legionnaires remained in the rear, but Wrestler rode up to protect him. Diriel’s vulnerability was meant to calm me, I knew, but I couldn’t help thinking how stupid he was. He held apart his empty hands in greeting.

“Why don’t I see the creature with you?” he asked.

“It’s sleeping,” I replied.

“I’ve waited, Lukien. You promised to bring it to me.”

“If you believed that, you’re even dumber than I thought.” I glanced at Wrestler and said, “Get yourself an advisor with some brains, Diriel. Maybe you’d make better decisions.”

“I see you brought your sword this time,” taunted Wrestler. He pushed back his robe to reveal his own. “I’ll toss mine away if you want to go again, Liirian. I’d love the chance to snap your neck again.”

“Not just my neck.” I pointed at my eye. “See? Magic.”

“Then take a good look, Sir Lukien,” advised Diriel. “You’re outnumbered. Even you can’t beat all of them. Does Anton Fallon know you’re throwing his life away?”

“Anton Fallon has a message for you,” chimed Marilius. “Isowon is his. He built it, he rules it, and he’s not given it over to you. Lukien speaks for us all. If you want Anton, you’ll have to kill us all first.”

Diriel looked up at Marilius, flashing his sharpened teeth. “Why doom yourself, boy? Run back and tell your master I’ll spare him if he surrenders to me. But I want the monster, too. I want what was agreed upon.”