The Forever Knight: A Novel of the Bronze Knight (Books of the Bronze Knight) (28 page)

T
he legion of Akyre didn’t bolt out into the battlefield but moved like a deliberate hand, slowly spreading out its gray fingers. First came the infantry, hundreds strong, marching out onto the battlefield and trampling the dead beneath their boots. Behind them rode the cavalry, trotting in a freakish parade, their lances and pikes poised for a charge that never came. Like a machine they came, their feet and hooves beating out a dreadful music. In the distance of the Sklar Valley, Diriel still stood upon his chariot, anticipating his victory. He was firing his best bolt at us now, the biggest weapon in his quiver, and I saw my men wilt a little at the sight of it.

How long had we fought? I’d lost all sense of time. The mercenaries were bloodied and exhausted, and the Zurans had already taken surprising losses, their numbers too small to overcome Diriel’s throngs of slaves. They had started with ninety horsemen, and from what I could tell they’d lost a third of them so far. Even as the legion approached, one more of Chuluun’s men passed me on the field, being dragged by a boot caught in his stirrup. I thought almost nothing of the sight until I realized the dead man was Nalinbaatar.

But Chuluun spared no time to mourn his brother. He was steely eyed upon his steed, the very picture of Bogati pride. With his bloody scimitar he pointed at the legion, rallying his men and being the first to charge. As though shamed by Chuluun’s bravado, Kiryk cried out to his Drinmen.

“For Drin!”

A soldier blew a trumpet, and suddenly Kiryk and his Dragons were racing into the legion’s lances. Lenhart and Sulimer followed, their swords cocked back to strike. Jaracz stayed just behind them, leading their footmen who sang out as they charged, beating their chests like wild men and cutting through the swamp of conscripts. The defenders from Isowon poured out after them, and suddenly both sides had emptied their armies onto the field. I glanced at the berm where Cern waited with Venger. I watched as the prisoners we’d taken struggled with their choices. I heard a voice in my head urging me to kill everything that moved. I even said a prayer to Cricket. Then I snapped down my bronze visor and stormed into the fray.

I found my first legionnaire, the closest one to me, surrounded by his dead-eyed brothers and armed with a spear. He raised his weapon, threw it, struck me . . . and I kept on riding, right into him, pushing the Sword of Angels straight through his head. His skull exploded at the impact, and when I turned three more heads were bobbing around me. I struck them all—one, two, three—and could not believe the ease with which they shattered. A glamour was upon me, not from heaven but from hell. I plowed my willing war horse through them, cutting of their heads like fruits.

“Blood for Malator!” I bellowed. “And bloody vengeance for his host!”

I could have flayed them, I realized. I didn’t even need my sword. My strength was everything Malator had promised me, and I released myself to it, to all the rage that had built within me, and I made that sword sing! I forgot the world around me, forgot my men and duties. I even forgot good Sariyah fighting right beside me. To me the world was a smear of crimson. I feasted on the legion, hacking them down, spilling their entrails and squashing their brains so that the dark magic animating them was snuffed. My horse slowed beneath me, and I realized his hooves were buried in body parts and smothered with gore.

“Around!” I shouted, spurring the beast free. The tide of legionnaires kept coming, relentless, but their endless numbers only fed my fury. Their weapons smashed and dented me, their lifeless fingers clawed my armor, and I cut them all away from me, sending their heads spiraling from their shoulders.

“Wrestler!” I cried. “I’m coming for you!”

There was no way he could hear me. I could barely hear myself over the clash. Soldiers speak of ground-shaking battles, and the ground shook today. The air shook too, not just with screams but with death rattles. I had lost everyone in the chaos; I was completely surrounded in a noose of soulless fighters. If Sariyah was still with me, he was somewhere in the mêlée dueling for his life. Someone called out that the horsemen were upon us.

Finally, I felt something. Not quite pain, but something nonetheless. A single pale-faced legionnaire had homed on me, knocking against my horse with his own armored beast and smashing his pike into my ribs. I should have fallen, but I didn’t. My armor split and blood sprayed from my side, but the blow that should have been mortal merely panged me. I grabbed the pike, yanked it from its wielder, and spun the blunt end through his eye, sawing it back and forth to wrench the brains from the hole I’d made. Yet the man-thing didn’t die. It grabbed up its sword, swiping at me even as I held it at bay with its own impaled weapon.

“Die, jackal!” I screamed. “Die and be in hell!”

I released the pike, swung my own sword, and sliced down from head to heart, watching in detachment as his body opened and fell from his horse. I was like Crezil in Anton’s hall, I thought. Merciless. Insatiable for blood. And nothing in the human arsenal could stop me.

*   *   *

I fought like this through the afternoon, the tide of bodies swelling around me, carrying my horse and me across the battlefield as I slayed them one by one. Sometimes I caught glimpses of Marilius, sometimes of Chuluun, and I knew that on the north side of the field Kiryk’s Drinmen held their line. I should have been exhausted. I should have been dead! But the fire Malator had lit in me knew no end, and though my armor was battered and cracked the Sword of Angels kept its magical edge, undulled and unsated by the scores it slaughtered.

Finally I broke away from the mass of Akyrens, driving my horse to a tiny patch of blood-soaked sand in the center of the battle. I spied the berm where, amazingly, Cern still waited with Venger. They were alone on the dune, protected now only the by the conscripts we had rescued from the field. These men had at least gotten to their feet, raising their weapons once again as if to hold the horde from Isowon. I looked for Marilius, so he could lead the conscripts into the fight. Sariyah was far from me now, his axe rising and falling on the heads of his attackers. The spell of bloodlust released me for a moment, clearing my mind enough to really
see
the battlefield. So astonished was I by the sight, that I nearly dropped my sword.

The mass of men who had faced each other just hours earlier had dwindled, both sides diminished to a third of their numbers. Corpses covered every grain of sand. A thunderhead of buzzards blocked the sky above, the smell of death drawing them for miles. The ground sucked at the hooves of my mount, saturated with blood, and hundreds of bruised and severed heads littered the earth, laying in their own gore or kicked along like playthings by battling horses. Limbs were everywhere. Prayers rose to heaven. I looked back and saw the path I’d cut and could not believe the carnage I’d made.

I couldn’t say how many legionnaires were left. Hundreds, certainly. But the conscripts who’d stayed to fight for Diriel were mostly dead, lifeless on the field or crawling over the bodies of men and dogs and horses. My own men were among them, heaped atop them with their own screams and missing limbs. The Bogati had all but disappeared, and I could not find Chuluun in the chaos. The mercenaries had fared only slightly better, and only because their numbers had been so many more. Now they fought in little pockets, exhaustedly swinging at the throats of the legionnaires, desperate to remove their heads. I swung my horse north toward the Drinmen, spotted Kiryk in the tumult and realized he was all alone. Neither Sulimer nor Lenhart nor Jaracz were beside him, just a handful of Silver Dragons.

I made the bloody calculations and realized we were losing.

“Marilius!” I shouted, throwing myself once more into the battle. I needed to reach him, to find him and rally him, but a wall of soldiers blocked my way. I cut at them, stabbing and trampling into the heart of the fray, calling out to the mercenaries to help me find Marilius. At last I found him, still alive, still atop his wounded horse. A band of mercenaries fought alongside him, encircled by legionnaires. I watched, amazed, as Marilius hacked at them, his helmet knocked from his head, his face scarlet. He looked nothing like the youngster who’d brought me to Isowon. That fellow was gone, replaced by a berserker.

“Here, devils!” I cried, luring the legionnaires to me. They turned at once, sighting me and raising their weapons, some on foot, others on horses so damaged now they could barely stand. Marilius and his gang pressed with new vigor, fighting their way out of the noose as he we swatted a path to each other.

“Lukien, get to the front!” cried Marilius as our steeds met. “Get to Diriel before they push us back!”

“We can use the conscripts,” I shouted. “Get to them. Get them out here to fight.”

“Them?” Marilius glanced over his shoulder toward the rear of our broken ranks. “They can’t fight, Lukien.”

“They’re ready,” I swore. “Rally them! Tell them we can win!”

“Lukien, you can win! Fight your way to Diriel and kill him. We’ll ride with you!”

“Go!” I ordered. Killing Diriel wasn’t my plan. “Bring them into the fight. Drag them out there if you have to!”

“He won’t have to,” cried one of the mercs. “Look!”

Together we turned toward the sand dunes. A wave of men came pouring onto the field, ragged, exhausted, but holding high their weapons and shrieking like madmen. The charge of the conscripts fed our army’s spirit. The mercs cheered when they saw them, and the Drinmen picked up the cry. The men of Isowon joined their brothers, and suddenly we were moving again, pushing hard against the Akyren wall, exploiting every tiny crack.

“Malator, where’s Sariyah?” I asked. I searched the field, but in the madness saw no sign of him. “I have to get to him. I have to protect him.”

Suddenly Malator burst into my mind.
Lukien! Diriel!

Suddenly the cue I’d waited for all day had come. At once I whipped my horse around, sitting up high and riding out to see. And there was Diriel’s chariot, turning at last from the battlefield.

A thrill shot through me. Now I needed speed.

“Marilius, take the front!” I shouted.

Marilius looked stunned to see me riding the wrong way. “What? Where are you going?”

“Trust me, remember? You’re in command now. Don’t give them an inch! Push until your heart bursts. Push and push until they’re dead!”

“Damn it, Lukien, you can’t leave us! Tell me where you’re going!”

“To save Anton,” I shouted. “To kill Diriel!”

I heard his curses follow me as I raced toward the berm, where my swift-footed Venger waited.

V
enger was the kind of horse that would literally run until he died. He had that kind of rare heart, so I knew that what I asked of him that night was not impossible. It was nearly dusk by the time we left the Sklar Valley, but I didn’t notice the sun until the battlefield was far behind us. I pointed Venger east, following the coast, choosing the quickest route I knew to the tombs of the Kings of Akyre. I doubted Diriel or anyone had seen my escape, but I knew that the madman himself would be close behind me. There was only one thing he wanted enough to make him leave the battle, I knew, and I suppose he thought his generals could take care of the rabble he was leaving behind. I didn’t know how well Marilius would fare, if he’d be dead when I returned or if Isowon would be overrun by legionnaires. I had but one plan in mind to end my enemies, and it all depended on Venger.

And on Crezil.

So we rode, through the forest and through riverbanks, and through the night when it finally came. I used the eyesight Malator had given me to navigate the hazards on our way, and Venger trusted me completely, never flagging even as the road grew rocky. It was nearly a full day’s journey to the tombs, a treacherous trip in darkness, and yet Venger seemed as enchanted as I was, as though he too gleaned power from the sword. Malator remained silent inside me, hidden from me, but I could still feel the enormous strength of him coursing through me. My armor and the flesh beneath it had been battered. Pieces of my golden suit hung from rivets. I had bathed in blood and smelled of every human stink, and I knew I looked like a carcass as I rode, finally stopping at a river to rest my horse and wash myself. The moon rose above me. I stopped splashing and knelt by the river to listen to the silence. Venger lapped the water next to me. Insects made their noises. But there were no screams, no clash of swords. Slowly, I felt my humanity creeping back.

How could that be, I wondered? I had no soul, yet still had a conscience. I regretted nothing of what I’d done, the heads I’d taken. And yet . . .

Washing myself had turned the river scarlet. It looked black in the moonlight. I saw my stricken face in the water.

“I’m broken,” I whispered. “I need to fix myself.”

But not yet. I still had vengeance to meet out.

*   *   *

The valley of the tombs was suitably deathlike when I finally reached it. With hours left until morning, the moon waned over the dark land, barely touching the valley with its light. By now poor Venger had given me all he could. I dismounted and led him by foot between the hills and toward the ribbon of water leading to Crezil’s tomb. The place was deserted, of course, but I knew Diriel wouldn’t be far behind me. He would take enough horses with him to expire as many as he needed, but he wouldn’t reach the tomb until sunrise. That gave me time to rest and plan. More importantly, it let me seek out Crezil for myself.

As if awakened by the valley, Malator suddenly stirred within my mind. I picked up a broken branch, held it out in my hand, and asked the Akari to light it for me. At once a soft, heatless glow engulfed the stick, lighting the river rocks around me. Crezil’s cave lay just ahead, the great, silent maw of it menacing me. I glanced around, looking for fresh victims, piles of bone, anything to tell me whether Crezil had fed. The area was eerily bare.

“Malator,” I whispered, “is it in there?”

Yes
, said Malator.

“Is it awake?”

Yes. And it knows we’re here.

I approached the entrance to the tomb, sensing the monster within it. Through Malator’s eyes I saw it deep within its lair, waiting near the portal to its own, hellish world. Crezil felt curious to me, almost impatient. I thought of going to speak to it, but stopped myself.

“Wait,” I said, trying to impart my thoughts to the creature. “Soon. Soon we’ll make our bargain.”

If the beast could hear me or sense my words, it made no move to say so. It merely waited, and in the cloudy vision of Malator’s sight I saw it looking back at me with its many eyes. It had changed again, I realized. Divested of bones and human flesh, it was naked now, like it had been when Anton had first pulled it through the portal. Even in the darkness it was enormously vile. I shut my mind to it, shuddering, and stepped back from the entrance.

“Will it wait?” I asked Malator.

For a time, I think,
he replied.
But not much past morning.

“It won’t have to wait past morning,” I said confidently.

I no longer felt immortal. The battle had drained me, or maybe it was seeing so many, many dead. Slowly I stripped off my ruined armor, examining each damaged piece as I laid it aside. The vambraces were cracked, and the breastplate was so badly dented that it pushed against my chest. I had cuts and bruises I didn’t even realize were there until I peeled the armor off. Finally, when that was done, I stripped off the torn and bloodied shirt beneath. I made a filthy pile of the lot until all I wore were my trousers and boots and the blue hahlag Chuluun had given me.

Then, afraid to sleep, I settled myself down at the edge of the river with the Sword of Angels in my lap and waited for the sun.

*   *   *

Crezil did not come out of its lair that night. It remained true to the bargain we’d struck, waiting patiently for me to deliver on my promise. When the sun finally came up over the valley, I realized I had nodded off, and looked around my peaceful spot for any signs of Diriel. I did not have long to wait.

Like me, they had ridden through the night, but unlike me they didn’t have Venger or a pair of magical eyes. I don’t know if they expected to see me or not, but when they finally rounded the hill and saw me by the river, they reined in their horses with contempt. Diriel looked exhausted, his face more wild than I’d ever seen. He had taken three bodyguards with him, all legionnaires and all as dead-eyed as the others, dressed in gray and crimson and staring soundlessly at me. And of course, Wrestler had come. He rode his horse the closest to me, splashing into the river and grinning triumphantly when he saw me.

“Have you come to protect your monster?” he taunted. “Good! Fight us for it and lose!”

Diriel trotted closer. “Sir Lukien, will you honor our bargain and give me the monster? We will kill you for it if we must.”

“You still make that boast?” I said. “After you’ve seen what I can do?” I rose to my feet with my sword still sheathed. “How many of your men do you need me to slaughter, Diriel?”

“Your men fought better than I ever imagined,” Diriel admitted, “but they haven’t won yet.”

“How do you know? You ran away once your slaves revolted.”

“Because the battle is as good as mine. Don’t you see? All of this belongs to me! This is my empire! Even that monster is my slave. Now, stand aside.”

“Truly, you are mad,” I sighed. “I could kill you with a breath yet you don’t see that.” I looked at Wrestler. “What about you, gargoyle? Still think you can beat me?”

“Put down your sword and let me try,” replied Wrestler. “Fight like a real man.”

“I want the monster,” Diriel said again. He’d ridden all night and had lost all patience. “Give it to me.”

“Believe it or not, that’s why I’m here,” I relented. “I am a Knight of Liiria, and a knight keeps his word.” I strapped the sword around my waist again. “The monster Crezil is there.” I pointed toward the cave. “That’s its lair.”

Diriel went white. “The tomb of my fathers . . .”

“Anton Fallon woke it when he desecrated your ancestors,” I said. “He pulled it from its world into this one.”

“That’s why it’s hunting him,” said Diriel with delight. “Revenge!”

I didn’t bother correcting him. “It’s lost here,” I said. “It needs a master to guide it. I promised I’d give it to you, Diriel. If you want it, it’s yours.”

“At what price?” challenged Wrestler. “We’ve already won Isowon!”

“You haven’t yet,” I shot back. “But that’s not the bargain. You’re my price, Wrestler. After I give Crezil to Diriel, you wait here for me. You don’t run or hide. You face me and die.”

“Put down your sword, and we’ll fight now,” spat Wrestler. “Don’t wait, coward.”

“I want the creature!” cried Diriel. “Give it to me, Sir Lukien. Now!”

I looked only at Wrestler. “Do we have a deal?”

“We do!”

I stepped aside for Diriel. “Follow me, then. Just you.”

Diriel dismounted and approached me. “If this is a trick, you should know I will be unmerciful to you, Sir Lukien, and to every child in Isowon.”

“No more threats, Diriel,” I said. “I’m sick of hearing them. Come and get your monster.”

Wrestler and the trio of legionnaires dismounted but did not follow us as I led Diriel toward the cave. With the sun coming up the entrance looked less forbidding, and Diriel was so out of his mind that he seemed not to care. I led him past the slab guarding the tomb, scraping past the crack in the rock. He gasped as we crossed the threshold, just as Cricket and I had done when we first entered the tomb. I held up my flaming stick so he could behold the ancient glories. The paintings and sculptures jumped to life. The eyes of the stone animals gazed on us. Diriel pursed his lips like a child, taking it all in.

“Magnificent.”

“This is the tomb of Atarkin,” I said. “The last emperor of Akyre.”

“And now I am the first again,” he said, awed by his own words. He went to the stone coffin that had once held Atarkin’s mummied corpse. He ran his fingers over it, grimacing with his sharp teeth.

“You’ve given your loyalty to a criminal,” he said. “Anton Fallon must pay for desecrating this place. Do not expect me to spare him. I cannot.”

“We came for your monster,” I reminded him. “This is where it sleeps.”

“It’s sleeping?” asked Diriel. He splashed into the stream running through the cave. “Can you waken it?”

“It’s waiting for you,” I said. I was actually getting nervous, and could hear the quaver in my voice. “It knows you’re coming.”

“It knows I am Emperor,” said Diriel madly. “It will bow to me when it sees me.”

“It needs you,” I said, trying to sound calm. And nothing I’d said so far was a lie. I’d figured it out—the whole riddle of the beast. “Soon you’ll both have what you want.”

“And you’ll be dead,” said Diriel sadly. “Wrestler will kill you, you know. Without your sword, you cannot beat him.”

“Just keep your bargain and make sure he doesn’t try to run.”

I held up the flaming stick, lighting the way to the chamber where I knew Crezil was waiting—the portal chamber. “This way,” I told Diriel.

For the first time, Diriel hesitated. He peered down the narrow corridor of rock. “Where are we going?”

“To see your monster,” I said. I looked at him. “Are you afraid?”

He was. His mask of madness cracked just enough for me to see it. “I have never been afraid,” he said. “Continue.”

With the flame lighting my way, I stepped into the rocky corridor. I could feel the unmistakable presence of the beast up ahead, calmly crouching in the darkness. My eyes scanned the gloom. I went deeper, leading Diriel onward, and finally saw the source of the river, still flowing magically into the wall. The portal flared with light suddenly, revealing Crezil’s hellish world. Diriel shielded his eyes from the flare, squinting to see, and when he opened them again he saw the monster emerging from the dark.

I stood very still, not moving forward but not backing away either. Crezil rose up on its sinewy legs, its pink eyes blinking, its naked body pulsing like the throat of a frog. It was enormous, made more so by the smallness of the space, its many heads lowered on its necks. No bones or stolen flesh hid it this time. Now I could see it all, the same, repulsive creature revealed by the painting just behind it over the portal. A human face stared back at me. A bird face clicked its beak. The goat head shook its bloody horns and the pig’s jowls dripped blood. Fleshy tongues darted in and out like tentacles.

“Crezil,” I pronounced. “I have brought you your master.”

Diriel was like stone beside me, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. He stared at the creature in disbelief. I knew I had to speak fast.

“This is your master,” I told Crezil. “Not Anton Fallon. Not the one who woke you. This is the last King of Akyre. He is of the blood!”

“Yes!” crowed Diriel. “I am your master, beast! The blood of a hundred Akyren kings runs in my veins!”

“Not Anton, Crezil. Not Anton. Do you understand?” I pointed at Diriel. “Him!” I looked at Diriel, waiting for the sign to tell me I’d done right. “He is your master, Crezil,” I insisted. “He’s the one you’re looking for. Take him!”

“Yes!” nodded Diriel. “I am . . .” He glanced at me. “What?”

“Take him!” I shouted.

As he looked at me, stunned, the mark of the monster appeared on Diriel’s forehead. I smiled with more contentment than I’d ever felt in my life.

“It’s yours, Diriel,” I hissed. “Kasdeyi Orioc! The Guardian-Slave of Gahoreth. You’ll be Crezil’s master, but not in this world.” I turned toward the creature. “Take him home, Crezil. You can go now. You’ve got what I promised. You’re free!”

“What?” cried Diriel. “No, here! Here in this world!” He looked up into Crezil’s monstrous faces. “I am your master. Obey me!”

“It came here because Fallon called it by desecrating these tombs,” I said. “Your ancestors bound this thing to themselves for protection. But they didn’t realize they weren’t just protecting this tomb. It’s been looking for its master ever since it got here. It needs to take you with it.” I stopped smiling. I almost pitied him. “Don’t run, Diriel. Don’t bother.”

But Diriel tried. He turned and took quick steps before a snake-like tongue shot out and seized him, wrapping around his neck. Another grabbed his waist, and another his ankles. Soon he was hovering, carried up by the monster and being dragged backward. He screamed, his face puffing for air, the black tattoo on his forehead flaring to life as he got closer to the portal. Crezil ignored me. It had what it wanted, and our bargain was done. If it was glad for it I couldn’t tell. I watched as it stepped into the living painting, dragging the screaming Diriel into Gahoreth.