“But Anton? Really? I never met a man who loved money so much. I can’t believe it.”
“He could have run himself, but he didn’t,” said Marilius. “You should credit him for that, at least. He loves Isowon. It’s his. He’s not going to give it up.”
“Then I’m glad to be wrong about him,” I said. “If I am.”
“I have heard no good things about Anton Fallon,” said Chuluun. “In Zura he is talked of as a thief. We have not come to help him but to fight with Lukien.”
Marilius looked sharply at Chuluun and said, “We all fight for our own reasons. Some for money and some for a grand crusade. Or for revenge, like the Drinmen. But make no mistake-you’re in Isowon now. This is Anton Fallon’s city. If you won’t respect that, turn yourselves around.”
There was real steel in Marilius’s voice. More than just loyalty. Love, maybe. He stared at the shocked Chuluun. I didn’t get between them.
Chuluun was good-natured enough to let the threat pass. He shrugged and said, “Brothers fight. My brother Nalinbaatar. .” He waved his brother closer, and Nalinbaatar rode up to join him. “Once he took a knife and stuck me in the backside with it. When he was just a boy! But we will fight together for Isowon. We will fight with you and Anton Fallon, Marilius.”
Nalinbaatar, who couldn’t understand a word being said, shoved his brother nearly out of his saddle. It was enough of an apology to give Marilius ease.
“There’s room for all your men in the palace, Chuluun,” said Marilius. “You should rest. There’s plenty of food-we won’t need to conserve it. This won’t be a siege.”
“Oh? Who made that decision?” I asked.
“Anton,” replied Marilius. “And I agree with him. We need to beat them back, not let them push us out to sea. It’s just us now, and whoever else shows up in the next day or so. We should go after them in the field, not in the city. Once they breach the city they won’t stop.”
“And Anton?” I asked. “Will he ride with us?”
Marilius frowned. “C’mon, Lukien. . he’s no good on a horse. He’ll be killed before-”
I laughed. “You made the right decision, Marilius. We’ll charge out to fight them. There. .” I pointed to where the smoke of Diriel’s camp defiled the sky. “Let Anton stay in the city. If he dies, the mercenaries won’t get paid.”
Marilius nodded, then gave me a look that meant he wanted to speak alone. I turned to Chuluun and said, “Ride ahead, my friend. Rest, eat. . you’ll be welcome. We’ll speak tonight.”
Chuluun rounded up Nalinbaatar and the others and trotted forward toward Isowon, leaving Marilius and me behind. Marilius waited until the Bogati were out of earshot before delivering the news.
“I gave Diriel your message, Lukien,” he told me. “Soon as I arrived. He’s waiting for you.” He smirked. “But it doesn’t look like you’ve kept your bargain.”
“Did you expect me to?”
“Maybe. Diriel wants the monster, Lukien. That’s the only reason he hasn’t attacked yet. You’ll have to tell him something.”
“I’m back now,” I said. “There was always going to be a fight, Marilius. Now it can begin.”
Marilius looked disappointed. “So you’re not going to tell me what happened? Where’d you go? Did you see the monster?”
“I bought us some time,” I said. “We need to talk about Diriel’s army. What’s it look like? As big as we feared?”
“Anton wants a council. He said we’d meet to talk as soon as you arrived. Lukien, what about the monster? Diriel’s expecting you to bring it to him.”
I started Venger toward the city again. “Have Anton call his council tonight. I want Chuluun there, and Kiryk, and that old man he listens to. No more defending ourselves-now we go on the attack.”
“What about Diriel? He’ll want to hear something.”
“Oh, he’ll hear something,” I promised. “A real skull-cracker.”
Marilius spurred his horse to follow me. “Lukien, there’s something else.”
“What else?”
“Someone who says he knows you. He came three days ago, before I got back with Kiryk. He says he wants to speak with you.”
“Who?” I asked. I was tired, perplexed, and annoyed by the demand. “What’s his name?”
“He’s a Ganjeese, Lukien,” said Marilius. “He says his name is Sariyah.”
* * *
I followed Marilius to the west side of the city, where avenues of modest homes stood among the fruit trees. We crossed through the abandoned market, the stalls empty of goods. Most of the people had gone to the palace, explained Marilius, but some had stayed in the west side because of the prayer tower. Isowon had no patron god and no one creed. Its people had come from across the region to trade or find work with the generous Anton Fallon, and had taken all their beliefs with them, mingling them in the city’s single “church.” The tower itself was easy to spot among the squat little homes. It rose up at the edge of the city, a cylinder of pearly brick overlooking the ocean. A colorful crowd had gathered around it, about thirty men and women anxious to offer prayers. But according to Marilius, Sariyah wasn’t letting anyone inside.
We dismounted near the tower and handed our horses off to one of the mercenaries standing guard. The crowd was orderly, most of them just sat and waited, so there weren’t many soldiers needed. The few present greeted their captain, relieved to see us both.
“Should I tell him you’re here?” asked the Norvan who took our horses.
I shook my head. “No. Just go away. He’s harmless.”
I hadn’t seen Sariyah or his sons since Arad, just before my tangle with Wrestler. I always imagined he’d made it to Zura, to start amassing that fortune he’d bragged about. But he’d come alone to Isowon, and that worried me. Marius said he’d come looking for me, and on foot. When they told him I was expected, he took his scimitar up to the prayer tower, threatened to kill anyone who came up after him, and waited.
“We would have dragged him out if he wasn’t your friend, Lukien,” said Marilius, looking up at the tower. “And he’s piss drunk. At least let me go with you.”
“No,” I sighed. “Go back to the palace. Take your men with you. Tell Anton I’ll be there soon. Have him make ready for our war council.”
Marilius turned and got back on his horse, ordered the rest of his men to move off from the prayer tower, and left me in the middle of the orderly throng, wondering about my first move. The folks around me looked up in confusion. A young woman sitting at the steps of the tower took hold of my hand.
“Let him pray,” she said. “Leave him. He’ll come down when he has his answers.”
Her compassion surprised me. Around her some others nodded. That’s when I realized it was the mercenaries who wanted Sariyah down. The prayerful were content to wait.
“If he wants to stay, I won’t force him down,” I promised the woman. “But he’s asking for me. I need to go.”
“He rages at Vala,” she said. She had deep brown eyes and a scarf around her head that might have been Ganjeese. “He mourns.”
My fingers slipped out of her hand. My heart sank, but I didn’t ask the obvious question. Maybe I was too afraid. Maybe I already knew. I shuddered as I entered the prayer tower, my breath suddenly loud within the echoing structure. An odd assortment of religious icons lined the circular walls. Burnt out incense hung in silver sconces. A winding stairway of alabaster twisted toward the top of the tower, but the candles along its way had all long since gone out. I paused at the bottom of the stairs, listening, but heard only silence from above.
“Sariyah,” I called up the stairway. “It’s Lukien. Can you hear me?”
There was a long gap of silence. I put my foot on the first alabaster step and heard a voice call back to me.
“Shalafein.”
That was a name I never heard anymore. Instantly it carried me home.
“Azizi,” I answered. The Ganjeese word for friend. “I’m coming up.”
The turning staircase enveloped me in windowless darkness as I journeyed upward, higher and higher past the dead sconces, using my enchanted eyes to see the glorious frescoes painted on the walls. Gods and animals bade me up the tower, the endless tail of some intelligent looking dragon pointing my way, like a rope to follow to heaven. When at last I reached the top, my eyes flooded with sudden sunlight, streaming in from the many archways and balconies. A pure breeze straight off the ocean stirred through the tower, filling my nose with brine. There, beneath one of the arches, sat Sariyah, his back against the wall, two empty glass bottles strewn beside him. His enormous scimitar rested on his lap. His eyes met me through the shadows of his filthy hair.