“No, and it’s not a fork or a hoe either. What’s your point?”
“My point,” said Chuluun, “is that a sword has always kept you alive.” He yawned, then stretched, then turned back to the kurelt. “Will you watch over us, Lukien? I am tired and need sleep. You do not need rest. You only think you do.”
And that’s how he left me, alone and baffled, having put just enough doubt in my mind to keep me awake all night.
30
The next morning Chuluun and his men broke camp the way soldiers do-quickly and perfectly, like they’d done it a thousand times. They packed the kurelt, sharing the parts of it amongst their magnificent horses, buried the embers of our campfire, and pointed their mounts west again. I rode with my blue hahlag around my neck, proudly pretending to be a Bogati, smelling of their spices and eager to reach Isowon. The closer we came the more the land flattened and the air filled with brine from the ocean, and by the time we were mere miles away my heart had swelled with so much bloodlust I was very nearly drunk with it. The handful of days Diriel had granted me to bring him the monster had nearly passed, and I was certain he’d already marched his army to the city’s outskirts. I doubted, though, that he’d done anything but threaten Anton. Diriel wanted Crezil, and only I could give him the monster. I had played my gambit and played it well, and was feeling better about myself than I had in months. Very soon, I told myself, I would have the revenge I needed so badly.
Isowon appeared: a shimmering mirage, perched serenely on the ocean like a daydreaming lover. Chuluun and his men cheered when we saw her, pointing and congratulating themselves and whooping over the coming war. The city was quiet, and from our great distance I could see the smoke of fires in the eastern hills, where Diriel’s army was no doubt camped. The haze above the landscape helped me estimate their numbers, a vast sum that withered my confidence. They were barely a two-hour march from the shore. But they were still camped, I reminded myself, and that meant Isowon was safe.
For now.
“Lukien,” called Chuluun, riding up alongside me. “The sky.” He pointed with his regal nose.
“I see it.”
The sight of the smoke thrilled Chuluun. “So many enemies. Heaven blesses us.”
It was something a madman would say. Or a young man. Maybe Chuluun was both. “Blood and teeth,” I reminded him. “We’ll spare none of them.”
Only madmen could win this fight, and I needed an army of them. Men like Chuluun, who thought the gods called them to slaughter. Or men like Kiryk, who’d lost so much they’d lost their fears as well. Men like me. Men too crazy to be afraid. We didn’t slow our pace a bit when we saw the smoke. In fact we drove our horses harder, eager to reach Isowon, to swing our swords and throw our spears. It was nearly noontime, and the hot sun bore down on our lathered horses. I remembered the way the city looked in that perfect light. I had thought she was asleep, but as we finally reached her outskirts I saw the fighting men along her sandy streets and perched in her white towers, armed and silent like a pincushion of blades. A patrol of mercenaries stood guard just inside the city’s main road, the very road that had led me and Cricket into Isowon that fateful first time.
Chuluun had never seen the likes of Isowon and, in awe of the sight, he slowed his horse. Finally, with the gleaming city growing in our vision, and at last bereft of words, his face slackened, startled by its splendor. He’d come from a world of steppes and campfires, where children played with bones and wealth was measured in wives and horses. And now. . Isowon. So hard to describe, so achingly beautiful, that Chuluun and his men gasped. Up ahead, the mercenaries on the main road spotted us, turning their attention toward us with a shout. I raised my hand high and called out a greeting, then heard my name from the crowd. There were at least thirty men. But one in particular stood out from the rest, waving both hands over his head when he saw me.
“That’s Marilius,” I said with a smile. “The one I told you about, Chuluun.”
Chuluun gestured to his men to ride abreast of us, forming an arrowhead with himself and me at the tip. He brushed the mane of his black horse with his fingertips, straightening up tall in his saddle as if about to meet a king. We watched as Marilius hurried to a horse, riding out quickly to greet us. Just the sight of him buoyed me. He had made it back safely, and that meant Kiryk’s Drinmen were here as well, probably preparing for the coming battle. From what I could tell already, Isowon was working hard to prepare.
Marilius thundered up on a dapple gray, grinning wildly at my companions. We greeted each other like the friends we had never been, clasping arms and saying how pleased we were to see each other. Marilius looked surprisingly well rested, but also relieved to see me.
“When did you get back?” I asked. I spied past him toward the city. “Kiryk?”
“Two nights ago,” said Marilius. “Kiryk’s at the palace with his men. Anton’s got the whole city jammed in there with us.” He looked over Chuluun and his men. “But we’ve got room for more.”
“Marilius, this is Chuluun, from Zura,” I pronounced. “Leader of these men. I can’t even tell you their names-bloody tough language-but they’ve come to fight.”
“Bogati,” said Marilius. He smiled warmly at Chuluun, then put his fist over his chest the way Chuluun had done when we’d met. “People of the wind.”
Chuluun puffed up like a rooster. “You know of Bogati?” he asked.
“Only a little. Only what my employer has told me. We welcome you, Chuluun, and your men. Others have come from Zura already. They told us more would be on the way.”
“Others?” I asked. “Really?”
“I tell you this, and you do not believe,” laughed Chuluun. “Bogati do not run from a fight! We ride into its fangs.”
“How many?” I asked Marilius.
“Forty at least. Fifty maybe. They keep coming! They come because of you, Lukien. You’re all they talk about.”
Chuluun gave a cocky snort. “He is one of us now,” he said, pointing at my hahlag. “You see that? We are brothers in this battle. He rides like a Bogati. If you fight with us, man of Isowon, then we are brothers too.”
I hadn’t told Chuluun much about Marilius-certainly not about his “friendship” with Fallon. Now I was glad I hadn’t. The look on Marilius’s face was priceless.
“Call me brother then, Chuluun,” he said. “We will fight together.”
“And the Silver Dragons of Drin, too,” I said, “and all the mercenaries who’ve stayed. How many have stayed, Marilius?”
Marilius smiled. “All of them, Lukien.”
“All?” I was stunned. “Not all, surely.”
“All and more. Everyone has come! Not just Zurans, but Drinmen and men from Kasse, too. And every one-armed, one-legged merc who can still swing a sword. The whole city’s packed with them, just waiting.”
“For Diriel?”
“For you, Lukien.” Marilius’s grin flattened. “They have nothing, most of them. They’ve lost everything. You should hear their stories. All their leaders are dead, except for Kiryk. He sent word north that anyone willing should join him here in Isowon. It’s a last stand. He’s the one that told them how you can’t die. They believe that.”
“It is true,” said Chuluun. He pointed at my sword. “He has a god for his very own.”
“I know,” replied Marilius. “And now everyone knows it. That’s why they’ve come.”
The news overwhelmed me. “Mercenaries too? I know mercenaries, Marilius. They fight for money.”
“That part you’re right about,” said Marilius. “That’s Anton’s doing. He’s given them everything to stay and fight. The palace is stripped. He told each man to name his price, then told any of them who thought of running that you’d come after them. You did say you would, you know.”
“I did,” I recalled. “And meant it.”
“I will slice off the ears of any man who tries to run now,” swore Chuluun. “Or anyone who raises a hand to you, Lukien.”