An enormous pain plagued Minikin’s heart. Though her eyes remained closed, she watched through her mind as the Akari fire burned the Voruni, mercilessly cremating them. She felt their great horror, heard their screams like unholy music raking her brain. Yet she continued, because she had to continue, and did not release the Akari from their ghastly work until she was sure Aztar’s army was destroyed. Her own army, those who had managed to stay alive, had retreated toward the city and were safe. No doubt Gilwyn and the others were shocked by what they saw. Were they horrified, she wondered? Would they blame her?
For Minikin these questions would wait. With every drop of strength she commanded the Akari to finish their work, to keep alive the great inferno until their enemies were dead.
Then they were gone.
Minikin opened her eyes. She saw the battlefield and her friends near the city, watching wide-eyed as the fire lifted from the desert. She saw too the devastation it had wrought, the great heaps of smouldering bodies and the last survivors limping home. Along the roof of the tower the Inhumans opened their eyes, too, letting their Akaris return to them. The Jadori in the streets below had huddled fearfully at the sight of the fire, but now looked up at Minikin in shock and wonder. Their bewildered faces wounded her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she told them wearily. ‘There was no other way. .’
The light in her amulet at last died down. Minikin looked at it, hating it for the first time in her long life.
32
Two days after the battle, Lorn and his companions were still helping the Jadori clean up the mess of dead bodies scattered in front of their city. It was stomach-churning work. Lorn had been in battle before many times, but seldom had he seen such carnage. Bodies and parts of bodies lay everywhere, and the stink of it was already overwhelming, bearing its deadly rot on the hot desert breezes. Even the great fire the magicians of Mount Believer had somehow summoned had not cremated all of the corpses, leaving the survivors to bury them in the sand.
Lorn knew the Jadori had taken a terrible pummelling, but they had won and he was pleased for them. Not long after the battle, he had ridden back to his companions and brought them into the safety of the city. With help from the young Gilwyn, they had all been given a place in the palace. Gilwyn had explained to them that he was regent of Jador, and that the true ruler of the city lived in Grimhold. The news of Grimhold’s existence elated Lorn and the others, but they had been quickly deflated by hard reality. Gilwyn had confirmed what Princess Salina had already suspected — there was no place for any of them in the place they called Mount Believer. And all those northerners who were already in the city or who had died in battle two days before had been told the same crippling news.
Lorn, however, refused to despair. Poppy and Eiriann were both safe. Aztar’s men had been defeated. Whether or not the prince himself still lived no one could say, but his army had been gutted by the magical fire, and Lorn doubted Aztar would trouble them again. For a while at least, Lorn was happy, for he had led his Believers safely to Jador.
Still, Lorn craved an audience with the Mistress of Grimhold. Her name was Minikin; Gilwyn had told them about her. Because the boy had been so honest, Lorn no longer kept up his pretence or called himself Akan. He was King Lorn, he told Gilwyn, the true but deposed ruler of Norvor. He had come to Jador with the purpose of healing his daughter of deafness and blindness and his companions of their various maladies. He was not accustomed to being refused, he explained, and he intended to get what he wanted from this little woman named Minikin.
However much he insisted, though, Gilwyn’s answer was the same — Minikin was very private and very busy, and would see him only when she was ready. Gilwyn hinted also that the mistress was troubled by the battle and its aftermath. Lorn could sense the fondness the boy felt for the little woman, so he remained as patient as he could, helping with the enormous chore of disposing of the dead. By the end of the second day, the disgusting task was complete. Exhausted, Lorn returned to the palace to be with his daughter and Eiriann. So many people from the palace had been killed in the battle that he was able to secure a chamber for himself on the ground floor of the lavish place, a room more than big enough for himself and Poppy. He was pleased when Eiriann and her father accepted his offer to share it with him.
It had been a long time since Lorn had been so close to a woman. Even as he toiled with the broken bodies in the desert, he thought of Eiriann. She had become a surrogate mother to Poppy and the child adored her. But she had become a sort of surrogate wife as well. Was he being unfaithful to Rinka’s memory? Lorn didn’t know, but he doubted his wife would have minded his newfound happiness.
It was almost dusk by the time Lorn returned to the palace. He was filthy and in desperate need of a bath, but when he returned to his rooms he found Gilwyn waiting for him instead. The boy with the clubbed hand and foot sat comfortably in a chair, expertly balancing Poppy on his knee. She cooed at the way he gently bounced her. Garthel was gone but Eiriann was there. She looked at Lorn excitedly as he entered the room. As had become his habit, Gilwyn stood when Lorn appeared. His monkey — which was always with him — scrambled up his shoulder.
‘King Lorn, I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said. Immediately he handed Poppy off to Eiriann.
‘Indeed,’ said Lorn. ‘Is this where you’ve been instead of helping the rest of us bury the dead?’
‘Hush, Lorn,’ chastened Eiriann. ‘He has news for you.’
‘Look at me, woman. I am covered with dirt and blood and not at all prepared to receive guests.’ Then Lorn looked at Gilwyn hopefully. ‘Unless. . have you spoken to Minikin for us?’
‘I have,’ Gilwyn replied, ‘and she’s ready to speak to you. I told her what you did for us, coming to our aid and fighting with us.’
‘And that I am a king, yes?’
Gilwyn nodded. ‘That as well. She’s waiting for you.’
‘You mean now?’ said Lorn. ‘I’m filthy, boy. I cannot meet with the mistress as I am. I must wash first, have a proper bath.’
‘Change your clothes and wash your face. There isn’t time for more,’ said Gilwyn. ‘King Lorn, I got you this audience, but Minikin won’t wait. She’s preparing to ride back to Grimhold. The only reason she agreed to see you-’
‘Yes, yes,’ snapped Lorn. ‘All right. Wait for me then. I will dress as quickly as I can.’
Less than half an hour later, Lorn was following Gilwyn out of his chamber and through the palace halls. He had changed his soiled clothes into something more presentable, but he no longer owned any clothes befitting a king, and he still had not shaved his stubbly beard. Still, he was pleased to at last have a chance to meet Minikin and explain himself to her. He was sure she would listen to reason.
‘So?’ he asked. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To the kahana’s chambers,’ said Gilwyn. ‘They’re my chambers now, really, because the kahana never comes here.’
The kahana, Lorn knew, was White-Eye, the blind girl Gilwyn had told him about. Very slowly he was beginning to understand the social structure of this place, yet it seemed to him that Minikin was the true ruler of them all.
‘Where are these chambers?’
‘In the tower.’ The boy laughed distractedly as his monkey wrapped its tail around his neck. ‘Easy, girl,’ he giggled. ‘That tickles.’