I can feel him, said Malator in his silent voice. He directed Lukien’s gaze back toward the library. Your baron is restless tonight, Lukien. My brother speaks with him.
Lukien was immediately intrigued. ‘What are they saying?’
Malator thought for a moment, then replied, They are together. That’s all I can tell.
‘Well, then, they’re not the only ones who are restless.’ Lukien put his hand on the sword, as if to put his Akari at ease. ‘They can plan all they want. It won’t change what’s going to happen tomorrow. They should never have let us get this far.’
And yet we are still far away, Malator reminded him. My brother is not stupid, Lukien. Look how he protects himself in the library.
‘Even the library isn’t impregnable, Malator. They can’t hide in there forever.’
Get us to Baron Glass. That is all you need to do.
Lukien nodded, but the task was daunting indeed. They were outnumbered, and would have to fight their way through the streets and the all the ranks of Norvan soldiers first. As he looked over the city, a thousand memories — happy and unhappy — flooded over Lukien. He had a been a boy in those streets, struggling to survive, and later he had risen to knighthood, though never to nobility. Those had been good days, when Koth had been at peace. When Koth had been great. She was not great anymore. Now she was an old cripple, groping her way through the world, decrepit and soiled, spoiled by war and corruption. And she had been torn apart by battles. Thinking of that, Lukien remembered that time not so long ago when last he had stepped foot inside the city. The memory made him shudder.
Do not think of it, Malator advised.
But it was impossible for Lukien not to remember, and he could not pull his eyes from the city or forget the faces of those he had fought with there. Breck and all his other friends, dead or scattered to the winds, and all because of Thorin’s mad designs. And then, without wanting to, Lukien thought of Meriel.
His throat tightened. A grimace of pain gripped his expression. Malator eased closer to him, sensing his loss.
Listen to me now, Lukien. It’s not your fault.
Lukien nodded. ‘Right. I know. But. .’
She is gone. Remember what Horatin told you. She went to him of her own accord.
‘Yes. I know,’ Lukien sighed. ‘It’s just. .’ He considered Meriel and all the others. ‘There are so many who might still be alive if not for me.’
Malator started to speak, then stopped himself. His alarm jolted Lukien into turning around, revealing a figure coming toward him through the mist. At first he thought it was Lorn, but then he noted the royal garb and the confident gait and realized with surprise that it was Daralor. The prince paused a moment, regarding him.
‘May I come ahead?’ asked Daralor.
Startled, Lukien did not know what to say, so he waved the prince forward. ‘Yes,’ he bumbled, ‘of course.’
Prince Daralor glided soundlessly to the edge of the hill, standing beside Lukien and taking the time to look out over Koth. Lukien eyed him curiously, not sure why the prince had come at all. So far, Daralor had never bothered to speak with Lukien alone. He had a thousand other things to do, and dozens of advisors to deliver his messages. Through the long ride north he had treated Lukien with respect, but that was all, preferring to get close to Aric. Now, though, Daralor Eight-Fingers didn’t wear his usual, unapproachable air. He seemed calm, which was normal, but also oddly melancholy.
Neither man spoke for a few long minutes. Daralor, preoccupied by Koth, imbibed every tiny detail of the city. Then, at last, he turned away from the scene, anxiously rubbing the stump of his missing fingers.
‘When it’s near time for battle I walk among my men.’ Daralor smiled strangely. ‘It’s been a very long time since I’ve been in battle.’
Lukien was unsure of his meaning. ‘Your men are brave,’ he offered. ‘They’ll make you proud, I’m sure.’
Daralor nodded in thanks, then looked out past the city toward the faraway lights of Raxor’s army. Tomorrow, probably, they would join the Reecians and lay siege to the library. And then the real battle would begin.
‘Even with the Reecians we are not as many as the Norvans,’ said Daralor. ‘How will they fight, do you think?’
‘They’re mercenaries, mostly,’ said Lukien, ‘but they’re loyal enough.’
‘Loyal to Baron Glass, or loyal to his gold?’
‘To his diamonds,’ Lukien corrected mildly. ‘They’re afraid of him, and they know no one can defeat him. He’s not just the ruler of Liiria. He’s the lord of Norvor now and they know it.’
Daralor considered this. ‘Than he must be got to quickly.’ His eyes met Lukien straight on. ‘We will make the way for you, Lukien, but the rest will be up to you. And your sword.’
‘I’m ready,’ said Lukien.
Daralor smiled. ‘Are you? Your pardon, Sir Lukien, but I see fear in you. I have seen it since we met, and I saw it grow when you learned about the woman Mirage.’
‘What?’ Lukien bristled. ‘Who told you this? Lorn?’
‘No,’ said Daralor gently. ‘Though King Lorn has his suspicions of you. You’re not surprised by that, certainly.’
‘No,’ Lukien spat. ‘Lorn saw me one night, speaking with the spirit of the sword. I should have trusted him to keep what he heard secret.’
‘He has told me nothing, Lukien. My doubts are my own.’
‘Do not doubt me, Prince Daralor.’ Lukien’s tone hardened. ‘I have looked into the eyes of this demon before. I’ll do it again and I won’t flinch.’
‘Then my men and I will do my part for you, Sir Lukien. You have my promise. Stay alive long enough to reach Baron Glass. That’s all you need to do.’
‘Ah, well then, that will be easy enough,’ said Lukien darkly. ‘For there is no way for me to die, even if I wished it.’
Daralor looked at him through the mist. ‘Some say you do wish it, Bronze Knight.’
The accusation made Lukien grin. ‘Believe what you want, Prince Daralor.’
‘Tell me, what will you do when this is over?’ Daralor eased away from the vision of Koth, smiling at Lukien. ‘Will you go back to Jador or will you remain here?’
Lukien shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet.’
‘No?’ Daralor motioned toward the sword at Lukien’s waist. ‘And what of that? Will you keep it?’
‘If I don’t I’ll die.’
‘Yes. You will.’
The two men understood each other, but Lukien wanted no part of it. He told the prince, ‘Whatever I decide after we are done here is no matter to you or to anyone. Tomorrow or the next day, when Thorin is free or dead, I will have finished my service to the gods that have ruled me. My life will be mine again.’
‘To live it?’ asked Daralor. ‘Or to end it?’
His questions irked Lukien. ‘To decide for myself,’ he said icily.
Daralor seemed satisfied with his answer. The prince looked back toward his waiting army. ‘They want you to stay alive until they can get you to Baron Glass. The rest is up to you.’
He said no more, ending his visit with those final words and going back toward his men. Lukien waited, perturbed, trying to figure out why the prince had come to him at all. Was he being tested? Did Daralor not trust him?
‘You needn’t worry, Daralor,’ Lukien muttered after him. ‘I’ll do my part.’
Afraid or not, he was prepared to meet Thorin on the morrow.
Lukien remained alone on the hillside, but his daydreams had been ruined and he knew that rest was necessary. Abandoning the private spot, he walked slowly back toward camp, passing men and horses as he picked his way back to his own bedroll. Night had settled like a mantle over the camp, filling the air with the sounds of slumber and anxious animals. Lukien greeted a few soldiers on his way, giving them a casual nod until at last he had returned to the campfire he had made with Lorn. There, he saw the old king sitting by the fire, warming himself and gently sharpening his sword. The weapon gleamed in the jumping firelight. Lorn’s eyes shined with anticipation. He looked up at Lukien as the knight approached, then glanced away again without a word of greeting. The two men had barely spoken at all during the past few weeks, the rift between them growing ever wider. For a reason he could not quite comprehend, Lukien regretted that now.