He turned and tended to his own kreels. This time, he had more than just Emerald to look after. Though there remained a shortage of trained riders, Minikin had let him travel into the eastern valley, the breeding ground of the reptiles. It had been an exhausting two-day journey there and back, but he had returned with forty of the creatures, all of them too young for riders but easily swayed by his newly discovered gift. As though they were chicks and he a mother hen, they had followed him out of the valley all the way back to Jador. Now they stayed apart from the other kreels, in a penned area between buildings near the border of the desert. The pen had been built in his absence, and though it was not comfortable for the young kreels it was only temporary. In the morning, they would be loosed.
‘Poor things.’ Gilwyn reached out to them, probing their intelligent brains. Even in their restful state they answered him. They seemed to know what the morning held. They had seen the other kreels around them, ridden by Jadori men with weapons. The activity around their pen interested them. They were ready.
Gilwyn leaned over the fence, resting his chin on his arms. It wasn’t fair that these creatures would battle tomorrow, yet oddly they had accepted their fate. More, they seemed to anticipate it. A large one of the group opened its eyes, raising its scaly head to stare at Gilwyn through the darkness. The bright reptilian orbs acknowledged his fears. With Ruana’s help Gilwyn answered the beast.
You are a noble creature, he said without words. I am sorry you must fight with us.
The kreel had no language to reply directly, just a preternatural connection. Gilwyn sensed the creature’s eagerness. Jador was their land, too. They would defend it willingly. Making its point, the kreel’s scales riffled through colours, from green to gold to angry red. Gilwyn smiled, thanking the kreel with a nod.
Around the pen, men and animals moved in preparation for battle. Kamar, Gilwyn’s friend and a leader among the Jadori, inspected the defences and shouted orders to his men. Ghost was nearby, too. Always willing to fight, the albino had insisted on a place near the edge of the desert. He was eager to ride out and face the raiders and had said so, but tonight he was quiet as he patrolled the western edge. Ghost was only one of the Inhumans to answer Minikin’s call. There were many others who had come from Grimhold and who now waited with Minikin inside the white wall, preparing for the clash. Even great Greygor had come. The guardian of Grimhold now guarded the gates of Jador with his massive armour and silent tongue, but in the morning he would join them on the field. The thought made Gilwyn prideful.
‘Such good people, all of them,’ he whispered. He was glad for the chance to fight with them, though he wished Thorin and Lukien were with him. He missed them sorely, and once again his mood collapsed. The world — his world — was spinning out of control.
‘Gilwyn?’
The call of his name started him, and Gilwyn turned at once. Coming toward him was a man he hadn’t expected to see, but whose presence buoyed him nonetheless. Paxon, the man he and Lukien had saved from Aztar’s raiders weeks ago, had decided to stay outside the walls and join them in the fight. Surprisingly, most of the able-bodied male Seekers had made the same choice. Now, as he strode toward the pen, Gilwyn could see he had dressed for war, donning a mix of Jadori and Akari armour taken from the city and the caverns beneath Grimhold. A peculiar helmet rested on his head, old but oddly suitable for the weathered man. A sword dangled from his belt, hidden in a battered leather sheath. Paxon looked older these days. The cancer that had brought him to Jador for a cure had asserted itself, leaving him gaunt.
‘Paxon?’ Gilwyn called. ‘Hello.’
The man greeted him with a nod, his expression serious. He looked over the pen filled with kreels.
‘They’ll rest here for the night,’ Gilwyn explained. ‘Before dawn I’ll move them into position.’
‘They’ll be part of the desert fight?’ asked Paxon. ‘Or the defence?’
‘The defence will be inside the city wall, if it comes to that,’ said Gilwyn. ‘These kreels will be fighting first.’
Paxon nodded grimly. Like Ghost and Kamar and others, he too would be part of the desert battle, the first clash. The Jadori had all agreed to this strategy, to take advantage of their kreels, which were far more suited to the desert sands than horses. But that also meant that Paxon might well die in the morning. To Gilwyn’s great surprise, he didn’t seem to care. He had given up trying to get into ‘Mount Believer’. And when offered the chance to be kept safe in the walls of Jador he had dismissed it, sending his friend Calith and the others inside instead. After all his disappointment, Gilwyn wondered why he chose to fight.
Inside the penned area, the kreels continued to sleep, only occasionally cocking their heads to look or listen. Paxon watched them, fascinated.
‘Paxon?’ Gilwyn prodded. ‘Is there something you need?’
The older man turned away from the kreels to face him. ‘I heard others talking, Gilwyn,’ he said. ‘They say that the Mistress of Grimhold is speaking tonight.’
Gilwyn nodded. ‘That’s right. She’s called some of us back to the wall, to talk about tomorrow.’
‘May I come with you?’ Paxon asked.
The request surprised Gilwyn. ‘I suppose. It’s not a secret meeting or anything. I think she just wants to see us, to tell us what we can expect.’
‘What can we expect?’
Gilwyn was circumspect. ‘It won’t be easy, Paxon,’ he confessed. ‘I’ve seen Aztar’s army.’
‘You’ve seen them?’ Paxon looked at him oddly. ‘You scouted them?’
‘In a way,’ replied Gilwyn. He evaded the question, because explaining his abilities always took too long. ‘But others have seen, too. Falouk has sent scouts out — you’re part of his group, aren’t you?’
Paxon nodded. He was to fight under Falouk, a Jadori commander, along with other northerners. They would be on foot, for there were no horses for any of them. Falouk had given up his kreel to lead them.
‘Falouk will be there to hear Minikin speak, I’m sure,’ Gilwyn continued. ‘But you can come with me if you like.’
Paxon’s expression grew strangely sad. ‘I’ve never been inside the city,’ he said. ‘It looks very beautiful.’
Gilwyn smiled. ‘Paxon, you know if there had been room for you all. .’
‘I know,’ said Paxon. He put up a hand. ‘I bear no grudges. You didn’t invite us here. We came because of a rumour.’
‘A dream, perhaps,’ offered Gilwyn. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘You let us live here. I’m grateful for that.’
‘Is that why you’re fighting with us?’
Paxon thought for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘At least the others have a life here, and it’s been better than our life in Liiria. I didn’t think it would be, but we’ve all grown accustomed to this place.’ He looked around with melancholy. The outskirts of Jador weren’t a slum, but they weren’t grand either. ‘A man should fight for his home.’
‘Forgive me, Paxon, but I must say this — you are not a well man. Maybe you should join the others inside the city walls. You’ll be safe there, as long as the Voruni don’t break through.’
Paxon put a hand onto his sword pommel. ‘No. My job is to make sure they don’t get through.’ He smiled at Gilwyn. ‘I’m dead anyway, young fellow. I’ve lived a good life, and I brought those people here. Now I have to defend them.’
There was nothing Gilwyn could say to counter his words. Paxon was right — whether dead by cancer or dead by scimitar, it didn’t really matter.