So I rode, pushing myself ever farther, and drank from the river and ate from my saddle bags, and it was like those old days back in Jador, when I’d escape to the desert just for solitude. I feared nothing and plowed down the miles until day and night passed, and I was at last in the north part of the forest that hid the Akyren tombs and the lair of the beast.
I looked through the trees and into the valley and then up into the sky. It was afternoon, but the sun was cast with clouds and a breeze threatened rain. The woods rustled with the noise of animals. Birds chirped in the highest branches. Up ahead loomed the caves, barely visible through the foliage. The quiet and the daylight made me sure I’d find the monster there. Then I had another thought-what to do with Venger? I’d already lost a horse to Crezil. They were easy, tempting targets, and I could not bear another being killed. I dismounted and walked my new friend to the edge of the woods.
“I wish you were a person,” I whispered. “Then I could send you away to come back for me.”
Venger flicked his velvety ears. His brown eyes rolled toward me.
“You know I can’t bring you in there with me,” I told him, “but you need to hide. You need to trust me. I’ll be back for you, all right?”
He didn’t really nod; I just imagined that from the way he moved his muzzle. But I refused to tie him, either. If Crezil came after him-or if anyone did-I wanted him to be free to run.
“Wait for me, but if trouble comes then bolt,” I said. “I’ll find you again.”
Venger turned slowly and trotted into the cover of the trees, where he suddenly stopped. Satisfied, I left him there as I descended into the valley, through the trees, following the tributary toward the creature’s cave. Malator came to life at my side, humming inside the sword. I stalked toward the cavern, splashing through the stream and then peering inside the murky cavern. My eyes adjusted quickly, and I could hear insects crawling over the rocks. I went a little deeper, leaving the sunlight behind. The smell of rot and cadavers stung my nose. When I reached the stone blocking the entrance to the tomb, I suddenly stopped.
Malator, I said silently, where is it?
I don’t know, he answered. I don’t feel it. I don’t think it’s here.
That’s impossible. It’s daylight.
Malator stretched himself across the chamber, spreading out like smoke. I could feel him searching, taking my mind along.
“I can’t see well,” I said finally. “Can you help?”
Hold out your hand.
I did as he asked, and a puff of fire appeared in my palm. I felt like a wizard! Now I could see the tomb clearly, bathed in the orange glow. I squeezed past the stone guarding the tomb, casting the chamber beyond with light. There stood the coffin that once held Atarkin. The silent sculptures of all the animals watched me. I knew as soon as I entered that Crezil had gone. But where?
“It’s daytime,” I grumbled. “Why isn’t it here?”
Maybe it’s gone to Isowon, said Malator.
“Don’t say that. Don’t say we’re too late.”
For my plan to work, I needed to face the creature. I sat myself down in the dust and waited, amusing myself by casting giant shadows of the animal sculptures upon the rocky walls.
* * *
I feel asleep dreaming of Gilwyn’s baby. In my dream the baby was a boy and looked like his father, small and mousey, with a hook for a hand. Compared to a clubbed foot, I told Gilwyn in my dream, a hook for a hand wasn’t such a bad thing. At least he could run when he grew up. At least he wasn’t blind like his mother. The Gilwyn in my dream smiled and agreed with me and cooed when the hook grabbed his finger. He called me Uncle Lukien.
When I awoke I realized I was crying, my shirt wet with snot and tears. I ran a forearm under my nose and forced myself to stop, but couldn’t get the image of that little hooked hand out of my brain. My bladder burned, begging for a piss, and I realized I’d been asleep for hours. The tomb was even darker than I’d found it. Outside, night had fallen-I felt it in my bones. I was wasting time and angry with myself, and the little flame Malator had given me had gone out. But I didn’t ask for another. Instead I groped like a blind man for a corner, unbuttoned my trousers and pissed on the wall. The smell of it in the airless tomb made me sick. I finished fast, shuffled to the other side of the chamber and sat down again, lost in my own black thoughts.
All of my life had been plagued by dreams. Nightmares, really. I never dreamed of good things, and as I sat there waiting for the monster I wondered at the turns that had brought me to this place. At night, when sleep evades, all your mistakes come haunting. I wanted to be drunk suddenly, to drown myself in wine or bury myself in a woman’s thighs-anything to take the pain away. The aloneness strangled me. The darkness played tricks on me. I could easily make out Cricket in the shadows, or Cassandra, or Akeela, or any of the others my love had murdered. I sat back and let them dance before my drooping eyes, somehow keeping my tears at bay as I drifted to sleep again.
When I awoke, hours later, the little flame was once again alive in my hand. I smiled at it, thanking Malator for the gift. I took the flame from my palm and lit a stone with it, giving me just enough light to move around the chamber. I studied each of the sculptures, marveling at the grace of the leopard and workmanship of the eagle’s feathers. I wondered if Malator could bring them to life for me, the way he’d drawn the monster in the dirt all those weeks ago.
The Sword of Angels rested in my lap. I caressed it as I thought of Cricket. First I smiled, then I laughed as I remembered her. How she could badger me! Malator noticed my mirth and popped into my mind.
What? he probed.
“I was thinking of Cricket,” I said. “All she ever wanted was to talk, remember? About anything. Even when she fell into a mood, she wanted to talk.”
About you, mostly.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
In the darkness of the tomb, with death and eternity all around me, I wondered: I never really understood her curiosity about me or mine for her. I never answered the question for myself. Had I wanted to be her friend? Her father? Was I looking for a squire or something more? I had forever to face myself, but I didn’t want to look. All I knew for sure was that I loved Cricket. And I missed her.
“She was a child,” I whispered. “Not even a woman yet. But she would have been a splendid woman. A brave woman.”
Lukien, you will avenge her, said Malator. Remember, I promised you that.
“I remember,” I said but wondered if vengeance would ease me.
Lukien, said Malator, we should go into the antechamber.
I sighed. Malator always tried to change the subject to deflect my sour moods. “Why?”
Because the portal is there.
“So?”
Lukien, it’s a gateway to another realm.
“A gateway to Gahoreth,” I corrected. “To hell.”
To a realm of the dead, he argued.
I didn’t get his meaning, and I didn’t care to. “Why are you pushing me? We were talking about Cricket. If you want to cheer me up, come up with something better than a visit to hell.”
I was about to set aside the sword when suddenly Malator spoke.
Lukien. . it’s back.
I knew at once what he meant. I felt it. Slowly I got to my feet, letting the sword dangle in my hand. I stared at the stone blocking the door and held my breath, listening to the noise of its approach growing ever louder. Then, it suddenly stopped.