‘Sir Lukien, may I talk with you?’ asked Paxon. Because their pace was so slow the man had no trouble keeping up with the riders.
‘If you must.’
Paxon frowned. ‘You’re angry with us, I know. I’m sorry. None of us knew those men from Ganjor would attack us.’
‘They’re not from Ganjor, not precisely. Like I said, they were Prince Aztar’s men. They’re people from his tribe.’
‘But why’d they attack us?’ asked Paxon. ‘To rob us?’
‘To kill you,’ said Lukien. ‘Oh, they would have robbed you just the same, but they want you dead. All Seekers. That’s what you’re called here. Anyone who comes across the Desert of Tears is Prince Aztar’s enemy.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Paxon. ‘Why?’
‘Because you’re not one of them,’ said Gilwyn. ‘You’re outsiders. Like us.’
‘But we do no harm. We’re only looking for a better life.’
‘Yes, you and hundreds of others,’ Lukien sighed. ‘Have you any idea how many people have come looking for Grimhold this past year? Aztar thinks this desert belongs to him. He’s proclaimed himself prince so that he can protect this desert, and he thinks you’re soiling it. That’s why his men attacked you, and that’s why he gives us no peace.’
Paxon looked suitably rebuked. ‘I am sorry. But these people have need of Mount Believer. You’ve seen them. That little girl, Melini — if she doesn’t get help she’ll be crippled always.’ He smiled up at Lukien. ‘Surely you can understand that. We come here because we must. Liiria is no fit place for good people these days.’
More than anything Paxon had said, that last bit was wounding. Lukien thought at once of Thorin, and how upset his old friend would be at the news. Of all of them, Thorin had left the most behind in Liiria.
‘So the wars go on?’ asked Gilwyn.
Paxon nodded. ‘It gets worse every day.’
‘And Koth?’ asked Lukien. ‘What news from there?’
‘We are from Koth,’ said Paxon. ‘The city is still under constant attack. Last I heard there were soldiers in the library, trying to hold the city. I don’t know if it’s still standing.’
The black news sent Lukien over the edge. ‘And just what did you think you’d find here in the desert?’ he snapped. ‘Freedom from war? Forget it.’
‘We only want to be healed,’ said Paxon. ‘I have a cancer that eats away at me every day. In a few more months I will be dead if the magicians of Mount Believer don’t save me.’
‘I’m sorry for you, then,’ said Lukien. He thought about his beloved Cassandra, and how a cancer had devoured her. ‘I know how a cancer can be.’
‘So then you see why we had to come here, Sir Lukien.’ Paxon tried to smile. ‘This place is our last hope.’
Neither Lukien nor Gilwyn had the heart to tell the man the truth. Instead Lukien said, ‘When we reach Jador you will meet with Minikin. She will answer all your questions.’
‘Minikin? Who’s that?’
‘You’ll see,’ said Lukien. ‘Now, go back and be with the others. It’s not much further to the city.’
Paxon didn’t like his answer, but didn’t question Lukien further. He fell back and rejoined his fellow Liirians. The rest of the way to Jador, Lukien barely said a word.
5
As always, the message had come on the wings of a dove.
Minikin had never seen their benefactor, but she knew the girl was young. Salina was the fifth of Baralosus’ daughters. He was a minor king who had managed to father a dozen children, and it was said that Salina was his favourite. It intrigued Minikin that she had chosen to betray him. In Princess Salina, the Seekers had found an unexpected friend, yet the girl remained mostly a mystery to Minikin and her Jadori allies. The messages her doves brought to the tower were always succinct, never hinting at motives or reward. Minikin held the note in her tiny hand as she looked out over the city, spying the distant Desert of Tears. Across the burning ocean of sand, Ganjor and its young princess waited. In the folds of the desert, Prince Aztar’s illegitimate kingdom had sprung up. And lost between them were Gilwyn and Lukien and all the others. Minikin’s tiny lips twisted in worry. Her friends — and they were her friends now — had left many hours ago, not long after Salina’s note had arrived. Their absence shouldn’t have troubled Minikin, but it did. She reminded herself that the Desert of Tears was a giant place, and that Lukien would not return until he had located the Seekers. Next to her, the white dove Princess Salina had sent rested on its perch near the open window. It had eaten its fill of seed and slaked its thirst on water, and now waited for Minikin to pen a return note, ready to wing its way back to the Ganjeese princess. But the Mistress of Grimhold had not the heart to set the bird aloft again.
She was very high up in Jador’s palace. Minikin remembered how many times she had been here in the past, when the lavish room had belonged to Kahan Kadar. The ruler of Jador had been her friend for decades, decades given them by magic, extending their lives well beyond normality. Now these rooms belonged to White-Eye. She was Kahana, but her malady of the eyes made it impossible for her to stay in sun-baked Jador, and so Gilwyn ruled in her stead. The room was littered with Gilwyn’s things, books mostly, which he had acquired from grateful Seekers. Minikin’s tiny shadow fell on a pile of Gilwyn’s clothes, which lay carelessly on the floor near the window. She smiled, reminded of what a boy he still was, despite his man-sized responsibilities.
‘Not much time,’ she remarked. Further into the room, her giant bodyguard nodded. He was many times her height and stooped, even in the high ceiling of the chamber. Trog, who was without a tongue, did not smile or offer his mistress any comfort. Minikin did not expect any. His presence was enough. ‘We should go now,’ she said, still unable to pull her gaze from the desert or take her mind off her thousand worries. With a smirk she added, ‘I’m sure they’re well, don’t you think?’
Though Trog was deaf he could hear her perfectly. His Akari — the spirit that had bound to him — assured that. Again he nodded his big head. Minikin did not turn to see the gesture.
Today, she had the rare opportunity to bring another of the Seekers into her fold. She had chosen a boy this time. And she had discovered the perfect Akari spirit to bind with him. She should have been happy, but was not. It gave her little joy these days to bestow this awesome gift. There were so many needing it. The godlike role she’d been forced to play weighed heavy on her mind.
She put out a finger for the dove, who hopped onto it at once. Minikin studied the creature, wondering about the girl who’d sent it. It would have been a simple matter to ask Insight about Princess Salina. Lacaron, Insight’s Akari, might easily be able to tell her more. But Minikin respected the girl’s privacy, and so did not wish to pry into her motivations. Somewhere in Ganjor’s royal family beat a kind heart, and that was good enough for Minikin.
‘Your mistress has saved many lives,’ she told the bird. ‘And now I must go to save another.’
The dove seemed obscenely large on the midget’s finger. Minikin coaxed it back onto its perch, gave a last wishful look at the desert, then turned and left the chamber. Trog, always a pace behind her, dutifully followed.
On the outskirts of Jador, beyond the white wall that sealed the city from the desert, a thriving sub-city had evolved. For long years it had been a place of travellers and traders, merchants from Ganjor and Dreel and the Agora valley and Nith, who had come across the Desert of Tears with their families to make a contented life in the shadow of Jador. It was not a slum; Kahan Kadar, who had lived many generations and had watched the sub-city grow up around his own, had always been kind and generous to those from other nations, and so had opened Jador to their cultures. The white wall that protected his city had long been unguarded, with a giant gate left open so that Jadori and foreigners could trade and mingle freely. It had been a fine arrangement, and Kahan had been proud of it. Both sides of the wall were contented, and so it had remained for many years.