“Anton,” I lifted the helmet out of the chest, “how?”
“I like shiny things, Lukien. I have many smiths and jewelers here in Isowon to make my world pretty. Fixing your armor wasn’t easy. The monster left it quite a mess. It’s amazing what real craftsmen can do, no?”
“It is,” I agreed. “Almost perfect.”
I was tempted to try the helmet but didn’t. I just stared at my reflection in its surface, the way the finish distorted my face, and saw my giant smile. My armor was new again, like me. I wondered if Anton knew how great a gift he’d given me.
“Any debts you owe me are paid,” I told him. “This is better payment than anything else you could offer.”
“Good,” said Anton, “because I can’t afford anything else. Even if we win tomorrow, I will have to rebuild.”
“But you’ll still have Isowon. You’ll have a home.”
“You can stay if you wish, Lukien. After the battle, I mean.”
“No, Anton, thank you. If I live tomorrow I’ll return to Jador.”
“And if you die at least you’ll be well dressed!” he laughed. “You should go to heaven looking your best.”
I put the helmet down slowly. “I can’t go to heaven, Anton, remember? I have no soul. No heaven would take me.”
Anton thought about that for a while. He blinked a few times, then said, “I am very drunk.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I should sleep.”
“We should both sleep.”
He staggered toward the open doors, taking the last bit of merriment with him. But before he exited he paused one last time to comfort me.
“Don’t worry about heaven, Lukien,” he slurred. “You can’t die.”
The logic of a drunken man. “Thank you, Anton,” I said. I picked up my helmet again. “And thank you for this.”
He waved and mumbled something and then was gone. A manservant appeared suddenly in the doorway, peering inside the chamber.
“Sir Lukien? Can I help you to your room?”
“Thank you,” I answered. “I think that would be best.”
“I’ll have your armor brought up to you,” said the man. “It will be waiting for you when you wake.”
A sad thought crashed my brain. “I’ll need help with it tomorrow,” I said. “To dress for battle. I’ve lost my squire.”
The servant smiled with pity. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry.”
“I loved her.”
“Yes,” said the man. He came to me and took my arm. “I’m sure she knew that.”
I looked at him. It was the wine, I knew, but nothing made sense to me suddenly. “Do you think so? I want to believe that. How can I be sure?”
He got me on my feet, smoothed down my wrinkled shirt, and said, “I’m sure you told her so, sir, even if you never said a word.”
Then he pointed me toward the doors, gave me a gentle nudge, and followed me all the way to my private chamber, where the softest bed in the world lulled me instantly to sleep.
32
I slept a drunkard’s sleep, deep and troubled, my mind far from the world where my body lay in soft, expensive sheets. I’d once had a fever when I was a boy, sleeping in the streets of Koth beneath a blacksmith’s shop; a fever in which every monster my mind could conjure visited and chased me in my sleep, and every time my eyes opened I screamed, because the sickness was so thick in my body I could not stay awake. The next morning, when the fever finally broke, the monsters left me, but the terror of that night always remained.
That was the kind of night I had before the battle. Only it wasn’t monsters that found me sleeping in Anton’s palace, and it wasn’t Crezil that called my nightmares. A long parade of dead friends came to me instead. Or, rather, it was I who went to them, like a troubadour.
I visited each of their death places. In my dreams I saw Akeela, my beloved brother, my king, one of the only people I ever truly loved. I dreamed of him so infrequently over the years that it startled me to see him. We spoke, but his words were foreign to me, so twisted by rage as to be incomprehensible, and when I left him he was crying after me. Screaming, I think.
Next I saw Minikin, my old mentor, and she spoke to me about love, and about how powerful she’d been in life, and how I was now even more powerful than that. I think she pitied me. So I left her quickly, and one by one visited a gallery of past friends and enemies. There was Figgis the Librarian and Trager, my nemesis, and nameless men I’d slain on battlefields. I saw Meriel, who’d loved me, who I’d spurned into the arms of a madman, and then I saw the madman himself, Baron Glass. Together they spoke to me of the burning that had taken Meriel’s life and the peaceful world of the dead, and when I told them I had no soul they wept for me.
That’s when I grew tired of the dream. I tried to awaken. I pushed myself, but somehow I could not, and so I went in search of Cassandra but could not find her. Nor could I find Cricket. I felt myself panicking, lost in my dreamworld, trapped like that little, fevered boy. I had the terrible thought that I wasn’t dreaming at all. . and that’s when my eyes finally opened.
Not wide, though. Just slivers, just enough to see that I was still in my bed in the palace. I fought to stay awake, to sit up and wait for morning, and that’s when I saw Malator seated at my bedside. He was dressed for battle in his splendid Akari armor, perched patiently on a plain wooden chair that I knew had been in my chamber earlier. I looked at him as I laid there, reassured to see him but unable to fully awaken. He smiled at me.
“Is this a trick?” I asked softly.
The room was so quiet, so like a tomb, that I would have thought myself dead if not for my cursed life. I could see the Sword of Angels where I’d left it, propped near my bed, and the boots the servant man had pulled off my feet. I could see the window and the darkness beyond it, telling me that morning was still far off. Yet I could hear nothing, not even my heartbeat.
“Do you think I’m tricking you?” Malator asked.
“Why can’t I wake up? Am I sick? Or is this just another one of your illusions?”
“Nothing I’ve never shown you has been an illusion. Nothing I’ve ever said has been a lie.”
“Why are we talking now, then? Why won’t you let me sleep in peace?”
“You’re moving through the worlds of the dead, Lukien. Those aren’t dreams you’re having.”
I lay very still. “Am I still in those worlds? This feels unreal to me. What time is it?”
“You have time, don’t worry. It’s hours yet until morning.”
“Hours? That can’t be. I’ve been dreaming all night.”
Malator shook his head. “Only a little while.”
“But I’ve seen so many people. .” I studied his face for treachery. “So, they’re real? Akeela-was that him? Where is he?”
“In the realm of the dead. I told you, Lukien, you are special. Wait. You’ll soon understand.”
“No.” I somehow managed to prop myself up. “Tomorrow is the end for me, Malator. Even if they don’t manage to kill me. If I survive I’m leaving here. I’m going home to Jador. There’s no more time for your puzzles. Tell me why I’m special. Tell me now.”
“You will wait,” said Malator gently. He was like a father at my bedside, and I felt like the sick child, frightened and impatient. “You will not die tomorrow, Lukien. Remember? I promised you your vengeance.”
I nodded. “And I gave my soul for it.”
“You lost your soul long before that.”
“Is that why I can move through the death realms? Because I have no soul?”
“Partly.” Malator grinned. “You’re getting it, Lukien.”
“Then tell me the rest. Or let me sleep. A real sleep. I don’t want to see any more phantoms. Why’d you want me to come here, Malator? Why didn’t you want Cricket to come with me?”
He smirked at me. “Lukien, that bit is obvious. It was too dangerous for Cricket. Did I not warn you? You need no other friend on this journey. Just me. If you trusted me. .”
He stopped himself. He looked down at his lap. But I knew what he meant.