‘And if you don’t return?’
Lukien paused. They both knew the answer.
‘Then I will be dead,’ he said.
Meriel. He called her that because he remembered her still as the sad young woman he’d first met, hiding her face from the world in an ugly wool cloak. He had not wanted to anger her by using her name — he had wanted to reach her.
‘Forgive me,’ he said softly. ‘If I have hurt you. .’
Quickly she shook her head. ‘It does not matter. Return to me, Lukien. No matter where you go, make sure of that.’
He smiled, because her love for him knew no logic at all. He was about to leave her when he noticed her raise her eyes across the room.
‘What’s this?’ she asked, frowning suddenly.
Lukien turned toward the entrance, noticing only now that the conversations in the hall had halted. Breck was standing. Like everyone his eyes were on the man on the threshold. Vanlandinghale had entered the mess, his face disturbed and drawn. In his arms he held a metal case, a cubical strongbox riveted with iron and heavy from the look of it. He looked at Breck helplessly, lost for words.
‘Van?’ Breck stepped closer to him. ‘What is it, man?’ His eyes went to the box. ‘What’s that?’
‘A coach brought it,’ said Van, his voice thin. He licked his pale lips. ‘A coach without a driver.’
‘What? Make sense, man. What coach?’
‘A carriage,’ said Van. ‘I was outside with some of the others, some stableboys. The coach drove up the road and stopped in the courtyard. Without a driver! The horses just. . I don’t know, they just stopped.’ He held out the iron box. ‘This was inside the cab.’
Breck looked at Lukien, who went to stand beside him. Mirage went with him, and soon others began circling around, curious about Van’s peculiar story. Everyone stared at the chest in his arms.
‘It was Onikil’s coach,’ he croaked.
Breck blanched. ‘Count Onikil?’
Van nodded slowly.
‘And there was no one else? No rider, nothing?’
‘No,’ Van replied. ‘Nobody.’
‘How do you know it’s Onikil’s coach?’ asked Murdon.
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Van. ‘I remember seeing it when Baron Glass left.’ He pointed out of the chamber. ‘It’s still in the courtyard. I can show you.’
‘Wait,’ said Breck. He gestured to the chest. ‘Put it down.’
Van did so then stepped back, glad to be away from it. While the onlookers gawked, only Lukien went closer. He hovered over the metal chest, sure there was nothing good inside it. Mirage grasped his arm.
‘Thorin,’ he whispered, dreading the thing’s contents. Was Jazana that ruthless? he wondered.
‘It’s not locked,’ offered Van.
‘How could the horses have brought the coach up here by themselves?’ wondered Captain Aliston.
The question made Lukien’s jaw drop. He had the answer in an instant. Suddenly he knew it wasn’t Thorin’s head inside the box.
‘Magic,’ he declared. He looked dreadfully at Breck. ‘The magic inside the armour.’
Confused, Breck studied the box. ‘How’s that possible?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Mirage. ‘Believe me.’
‘Then what’s in the box?’ asked Aric Glass anxiously. ‘Sir Lukien, if it’s not from my father.’
‘You misunderstand me, boy,’ said Lukien. ‘It’s from your father, at least in a way. It was Onikil’s coach that brought it here, but it was your father that sent it.’
Breck nodded his agreement. He knelt down before the chest and undid the simple latch holding closed its metal lid. When the mechanism sprang he paused before opening it. He looked in the box for only an instant before turning away in disgust.
Count Onikil’s bloated, unmistakable face glared back at him, eyes bulging, tongue swollen and pulled out of his mouth. Through his tongue was a pointed metal rod, skewering a paper to the dead, red muscle. The women in the room shrieked when they saw it, hiding their children’s eyes and hurrying them out of the room. More than one of Breck’s men retched. Lukien stared at the head, horrified by it.
‘Onikil?’ he asked.
Breck nodded. ‘Yes.’ He reached into the box, pulled the spike from the tongue to release the note, then quickly closed the gory package. He read the note in silence, which only took him a moment. His face grave, he handed it to Lukien. ‘It’s for you,’ he said. ‘And it’s for all of us.’
With Mirage looking over his shoulder, Lukien read the shocking letter.
Tongues will wag, and traitors always suffer. Surrender the city or share the traitor’s fate.
Two bold names ran along the bottom.
Jazana Carr, Queen of Norvor
Baron Thorin Glass
It was Thorin’s handwriting; Lukien recognised it easily. He had even signed Jazana’s name.
‘What does it mean?’ asked Mirage.
‘It means we’re too late,’ said Lukien. ‘It means I’m not going anywhere.’ He stared at Breck, who already seemed to understand everything.
‘It means,’ said Breck to his officers, ‘we have a fight on our hands.’
48
Gilwyn spent four days in Grimhold with White-Eye before finally leaving for Jador. He had done his best to explain himself to White-Eye, to convince her of the rightness of his plan, but she had remained unmoved throughout their time together and had wept when he’d left. After his promise to be her ‘eyes’, she could not understand why he was leaving for Liiria or why he believed he could reach Thorin, whom she was convinced was too deeply in the clutches of Kahldris for anyone to save. In truth, she had made Gilwyn doubt that he had any chance at all of saving Thorin, but she had not swayed his determination to try. He loved her too much, he explained, to let her fall prey to Kahldris again. If Lukien had failed to save Thorin, then the time had come for him to try.
Unhappily, Gilwyn left White-Eye, promising to see her again but completely unsure when that would be. Nor had his goodbye to Minikin been any better. Gilwyn could not tell what future she predicted for him, and if she had consulted with the Akari about his fate she did not reveal it. She simply looked sad, as if she doubted he would return.
Gilwyn rode back to Jador, not rushing as he had on the way to Grimhold. There was much on his mind, and he was not really eager to tell the Jadori the news of White-Eye’s blinding. Though most Jadori had never even met White-Eye, they all worshipped and adored her. She was their kahana, born of the great Kadar. They would not take the news well, he knew, for they were still reeling from the battle with Prince Aztar.
During his first day back in the city, Gilwyn tended to his usual business. He was relieved to hear that no more Seekers had crossed the desert, but there were shortages of everything still, and life had yet to get back to normal. He told no one of his plans to leave for Liiria, not even his closest Jadori friends, though he could not hide from them what had happened to White-Eye — they were intensely curious from the moment he returned. The sad news travelled quickly, and by nightfall it seemed to Gilwyn that the whole city was in mourning.
That night, Gilwyn planned his departure. In the palace chamber that had once been Kadar’s, he watched the sun disappear from his balcony. The birdcage that had housed Salina’s doves had remained empty since the defeat of Aztar, and he wondered with melancholy what had become of their unseen benefactor. Lorn had mentioned briefly that she had helped him and his friends across the desert, but he had not spoken of her since he’d come to Jador and in truth seemed to know nothing about her at all. Gilwyn leaned out over the balcony, resting his elbows on the stone rail and his face in his hands. Leaving Jador meant leaving everything behind, he realised sadly. He had already decided to leave Teku behind, fearing for the safety of his furry friend on the long trek ahead. Emerald, too, would have to stay behind. Though the kreel would be invaluable in getting him to Ganjor, he would not be able to bring her north, and leaving her in Ganjor was impossible. He would have to take a horse across the desert or a drowa, neither of which appealed to him since he had barely ever ridden either. With Ruana’s help, he was sure he could manage, but it would not be easy with his lame foot and hand. He hoped his ‘gift’ would lend him greater control of a mount.