At last, Kiryk cracked a grin. “He did.”
“He did?”
“That’s one lucky man,” said Kiryk. “Lost a hand, though.” He flexed his right hand. “This one. Lost it in the last charge. No more freelancing for him.”
It was an unholy thing to smile in such a place, but I did. Of all the men who’d died here, Marilius had survived. That, at least, was something. I wanted to go to him, to tell him about Diriel and Wrestler and to see his missing hand.
First, though, there were bodies to bury.
Late that night I returned to Anton’s palace with Kiryk. Instead of mercenaries, servants greeted us, hurrying us to Anton’s lush baths and filling us with food and drink. The palace was less grand than I remembered-Anton had given most of his belongings to his mercenaries-yet there remained that sense of wonder to the place, and I let the bare-breasted serving girls pamper me, massaging my shoulders in the bath and feeding me newly plucked grapes. Kiryk dismissed himself quickly after that, anxious to be with his fellow Drinmen and make his way home. He left the very next day.
I remained in the palace for a week. Occasionally I visited Marilius in his sick bed and jibed him about his missing hand. Anton spared no expense for his dear captain’s comfort, of course. Marilius had his own room and his own servants, even a musician who sometimes sang to him while he tried to sleep. The pain of his wounds was excruciating, but it would pass. Not only had he lost his right hand to a legionnaire, but he’d taken a sword to the side of his belly as well. He looked like a real man now, I told him. The father who had so easily disowned him would have been proud.
I healed, too. I spent my time looking at what was left of Anton’s art collection. I swam in his pools and made love to his servant girls. I even sniffed some of his spices. I wanted to forget, but I couldn’t. Cricket was always in the back of my mind, dying over and over again in my arms, and no amount of spice or lovemaking could make her go away.
Anton and I made peace, and I no longer blamed him for all that had happened. The tattoo of Crezil had vanished from his forehead, and he delighted at the story of Diriel’s demise, insisting I tell it to him again and again. He’d lost so many men, but he would rebuild. He still had his spice routes, and he still had his guile. Each day he implored me to stay behind, to be his personal bodyguard or help rebuild his private army, and although Isowon was truly like paradise, I was never tempted by his offer. I had my own home and ached to see it again.
Finally, with Venger beneath me and fresh new clothes on my back, I left Isowon. I pointed us toward Arad, said my good-byes to the city on the sea, and rode for Jador. I had many days of travel ahead of me and no real hurry. Gilwyn and White-Eye’s baby wasn’t due for a while yet, and without Cricket I had no mission for myself. I wore the Sword of Angels, of course, but without my armor didn’t think myself a knight-errant anymore. My time in the Bitter Kingdoms had cured me of that. Now it was back to the boredom of Jador, of hunting rass for sport and lying out in the desert to wonder at the stars.
I passed through all the towns I had passed with Cricket, retracing our steps so I could remember her perfectly. And when I finally reached Arad I went to the spot where Wrestler had broken my neck and where Marilius had saved me. Malator was my soul companion, and I spent long hours speaking to him while I rode. Sometimes he would appear beside me, sometimes only in my brain. We spoke of good things, mostly, and he told me stories about the way his life had been when he was alive. I made my own confessions, too, the secret things that Cricket could never pry out of me. I was happy, or at least mostly contented, but I still had questions for Malator. Too much had gone unsaid.
Two days after leaving Arad, we came to a nameless forest. With a stream and leaves falling into the water, I knew I had found the perfect place to rest and, perhaps, get some answers. I made camp in a tiny clearing, where a hole in the treetops let me see the sky, and built a fire to warm myself as the sun slowly went down. Venger drank from the stream as I ate supper from my saddle bags, and when the first stars appeared I settled down in front of the fire, lay the Sword of Angels in my lap, and called forth my Akari.
“Malator.” I practically whispered his name. “It’s time for answers.”
It is.
He gave no argument, but materialized before me, sitting cross-legged like some shaman in the firelight. This time he didn’t wear his military garb. He dressed himself in simple Akari clothing, like a man at leisure. I looked at him and smiled.
“I did as you asked,” I said. “I have no friends but you. I gave myself to you, and you granted me vengeance. I’m grateful to you, Malator. But now I need to know-will you tell me without riddles? At last, will you please?”
“There are doors, Lukien,” said Malator. “Like the portal Crezil came through. Ways for men to enter other realms as Diriel did. Only he was taken there against his will.”
“Go on,” I said softly.
Malator looked sad. “You think I’ve been harsh with you. But I tried to warn you about Cricket. I told you to go to the Bitter Kingdoms on your own. I wanted you to learn. What did you learn?”
I thought hard over that. “That there are monsters?” I ventured. “Other worlds. I knew that already though. I learned that I have no soul. I learned that I am special, or so you keep telling me. Only that’s the part I don’t understand, Malator. How can all of this been worth it? What did you want to teach me?”
“Not teach you,” he corrected. His eyes shimmered. “Change you. And I have. You are not a simple man any longer, Lukien. You could have gone through that portal to Gahoreth as easily as Diriel, but without Crezil. No other man could have done that. No living man.”
“You confuse me, Malator,” I said. “Why would I want to go to Gahoreth?”
“Because you can,” he said. “Because no other man alive can. Because Gahoreth is a world of the dead, and there are many such worlds. Without a soul, you are a walker between these worlds, Lukien. You can see things no man alive has seen.” He leaned forward. “Even lost loves.”
His words chilled me. I blinked but didn’t speak. I couldn’t bring myself to hope it. “What?”
“Cassandra, Lukien,” said Malator. “You can be together with her, if you wish it. You can find the door to her death place and walk through it and back again. This is not death I speak of. Death would take you out of this world forever. I’m talking about you, alive, as you are now.”
“Cassandra. .” I spoke the name like a prayer. “If I find the doorway?”
“I can help you, Lukien. Together we will find it. And others too.”
“How?” I asked. “When?”
“The same way we found Gahoreth-by following the clues. When?” Malator shrugged. “Whenever you wish it.”
“This is your gift to me,” I realized. “For all my suffering. A great gift.” I sat back and spied the twinkling stars. “A walker between the worlds,” I sighed. “Yes.”