Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (117 page)
Enraged, Trager glanced desperately at his men. “He lies! He wants to turn you against me!” He glared up at Lukien, blinded by his bronze armor. “How dare you taunt me, you traitor! All these men know how you abandoned Liiria! They all know I’m better than you!”
Again Lukien filled the cliffs with his mocking voice. “If these men follow you, Trager, then they’d better be prepared to die!”
“Ha!” chortled Trager. “That’s a big boast, one-eye! We’ve got the weapons, remember?”
Lukien surprised him with a wink and a smile. The Bronze Knight turned toward the fortress and shouted through the cliffs, “Defenders of Grimhold, show yourselves!”
Instantly the rocky walls came alive with figures, men and women in mismatched armor bearing spears and bows, all pointed downward at Trager’s army. There were hundreds of them or more, too many to count. The horses whinnied in panic as stones tumbled down from the cliffs. Trager swiveled in confused panic, watching as more and more of the armored heads appeared in the cliffs.
“Gods, now what?” asked Colonel Tark. He looked toward Trager for answers the general didn’t have.
“Not a bad army for a bunch of freaks, eh Trager?” crowed Lukien. His hand rested confidently on the pommel of his sword. “Don’t try to flee. If you do I’ll give the order to fire.”
It wasn’t a bluff and Trager knew it. Immediately he put up his hand, ordering his horsemen not to move. “A good gambit, Lukien,” he called, “but not good enough. There’ll still be enough of us left to take your precious Grimhold.”
Lukien shrugged. “Maybe,” he shouted back. “Want to find out? They may not look like much but they’ve got good aim. I’m sure we’ll take out a bunch of you.”
Trager ground his jaws together, desperate for a plan. Having Lukien best him was unbearable. And just his presence on the cliff was affecting his men. He could see the adoration in their eyes, mixed with their very real fear of death. The army in the hills kept them sharply in their sights, ready to rain down their arrows and spears. Trager knew he was trapped. The last bit of control in him collapsed.
“Damn it!” he cried, shaking his fist. “I’m your better!”
Lukien’s gaze narrowed hatefully on him. “Prove it.”
The challenge was intolerable. All his life had come down to this single moment, and suddenly Trager didn’t care about anything else, not the amulets or Grimhold or the possibility of ruling Liiria. He didn’t even care about the lives of his men. He just wanted to beat Lukien in front of them.
“Name your bargain, traitor!”
“You and me, to the death,” said Lukien. “Why risk all these men, when all you really want is me?”
The hunger to avenge himself for a lifetime of wrongs made Trager pull the sword from his scabbard. “Get down here and face me!”
Lukien shook his head. “No way, murderer. If you want me, you fight me up here, where everyone can see us.”
Before he knew what he was doing Trager jumped from his horse. He scanned the cliffs for a way to scale them.
“General, no!” cried Tark. “What’s the matter with you? He’s baiting you, can’t you see that?”
Trager looked at his aide, desperate for him to understand. “I know, Tark, but I must. And you watch, all right?” He called out to all his men, “All of you, watch me! Watch me defeat this vermin once and for all! Then you’ll see who the best really is!”
Under the threat of Grimhold’s arrows, the hundreds of Liirian horsemen watched helplessly as their leader turned away and started hiking his way up the cliff. As Trager climbed he heard Tark calling after him, cursing.
“You’re as mad as Akeela!” cried Tark.
Trager ignored the colonel’s charge. None of them understood. None of them could ever understand.
“You didn’t grow up in that bastard’s shadow, Tark,” he grunted as he slogged up the rocks. Tark couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter. His destiny was waiting at the top of the cliff.
High in the northern turret of Grimhold, Gilwyn waited with White-Eye and Minikin, watching the extraordinary events unfolding outside. They had waited until they’d heard Lukien’s order before opening the shutters, and had experienced a wonderful but brief surge of pride. Seeing her Inhumans so well prepared for battle had made Minikin almost weep. Gilwyn had felt the very same. But then Lukien had started talking, and everything went astray. Minikin almost hung over the window in disbelief as she watched Trager begin shimmying up the cliff. At the top was Lukien, swishing his blade and stretching his muscles in preparation.
“Vala’s Grace, what’s he doing?” exclaimed the little woman. White-Eye joined her at the window, as dumbstruck by the knight’s actions as her mentor. With the help of her Akari she could see everything that was going on. She turned toward Gilwyn for an explanation.
“Gilwyn? What’s he doing?”
Gilwyn pushed past her for a better look. The Liirian soldiers were hardly moving. In the cliffs were the countless Inhumans, aiming their weapons down on them. He could see Baron Glass on the northern slope, standing in dumb surprise with his mouth open. Apparently he didn’t know what Lukien had planned either.
“He’s going to fight Trager himself,” said Gilwyn.
“Why?” shrieked Minikin. “He doesn’t have to do that! He’ll be killed!”
The lump in Gilwyn’s throat grew as he realized Lukien was sacrificing himself. “If he can take out Trager. . . .”
“But he can’t!” said Minikin. “The man’s only got one eye!”
Gilwyn reached for White-Eye and took her hand. “He’s doing it for us,” he said. “The Liirians won’t attack if they lose Trager.”
White-Eye nodded but was unable to speak. There was still every chance in the world that they would soon burn in Amaraz’ fire.
Lukien waited at the top of the cliff, exercising his sword arm and listening to Trager curse as he hiked his way up the rocks. In the distance he could see Minikin in Grimhold’s turret, her face tight with shock. Baron Glass was on the northern slope, calling orders to their comrades and periodically shooting Lukien an admonishing glare. Lukien knew the old baron had figured out his plan. Clearly, he didn’t approve. But Lukien was past caring. He had been prepared to die since fleeing for Jador, and he knew the consequences of his actions. In fact, he was content and pleased with himself.
How well I know you, Trager,
he thought as he sliced his sword through the air. How easy it had been to coax him up.
he thought as he sliced his sword through the air. How easy it had been to coax him up.
In a few minutes Trager had bested the cliff and appeared on the ledge to face Lukien, stepping out from behind a huge outcropping of brown rock. He had sheathed his sword and let it rest at his side as he watched his opponent. His eyes took measure of the ledge and smiled.
“You’ve chosen quite a stage for our showdown, Lukien.”
Lukien let his sword fall to his side. Trager was a pitiful sight, his once gleaming silver armor now scratched and filthy from the hike. He noticed the way his old nemesis favored his side a bit as he breathed.
“Your wound,” he said. “Still hurts?”
Trager’s grin was maniacal. “Not enough to save you.”
“I knew you’d come,” said Lukien. “I knew you just couldn’t resist trying one more time to beat me.”
“Why shouldn’t I try?” sneered Trager. “I’ve had to live with your memory every day of my life. Now I’ll finally get a chance to prove to everyone what a bag of wind you are.”
Lukien gestured toward the waiting Liirians below. “You’re losing them, you know. They don’t believe I killed Akeela. They know what you are, Trager.”
“They follow me, Lukien, in a way that no one ever followed
you.”
Trager took a step forward, his face reddening. “I made them the greatest soldiers on the continent. But do I get any praise for that? Does anyone talk about me the way they speak of you? You’re a gods-cursed traitor and they still revere you. They don’t know what you’re really like!”
you.”
Trager took a step forward, his face reddening. “I made them the greatest soldiers on the continent. But do I get any praise for that? Does anyone talk about me the way they speak of you? You’re a gods-cursed traitor and they still revere you. They don’t know what you’re really like!”
Lukien shook his head, almost pitying the man. “They see the truth in you, that’s all.”
“The truth? You made me, you bastard! I was the one who held Akeela together when you ran out on him!” Trager spit at Lukien’s feet. “You sicken me. You call me a coward, but I was there to pick up the pieces after what you did to Akeela. And he never once thanked me for it. Never once!”
“You both went mad,” said Lukien. “But that doesn’t mean you should be allowed to go on.” He hefted his sword. “You need to be put down, Trager. Like a rabid dog.”
Trager’s eyes gleamed as he unsheathed his blade. “I’ve waited a long time for this,” he said. “I’m going to love watching you die.”
There was hardly time for Lukien to raise his blade. Trager charged, swinging his sword in a blinding arc and nearly catching his torso. Lukien’s blade slashed down to parry, then twisted to repel the attack. At once Trager came at him again, slashing at Lukien’s blind side, a tactic the Bronze Knight had expected. He was stunned by Trager’s swiftness, amazed that a man could move so fast. Again and again Trager pressed, pushing Lukien toward the edge of the cliff. The ground beneath him began to crumble. Lukien heard the stunned gasps below, felt the rocks giving way. Snarling, he gritted his teeth and counterattacked, desperately holding his ground, putting all his strength into an inch-by-inch advance. The sudden burst surprised Trager; Lukien watched his eyes widen. He pressed his one advantage, going for Trager’s wounded ribs and catching his torso with the flat of his blade. The armor dented as the blade found its mark. Trager hollered in angry pain, falling back and saving Lukien from the edge. Lukien kept on, swinging his blade for Trager’s legs. The wounded general’s weapon parried every blow, dancing from point to point with expert speed. Countering, he brought up his armored forearm and smashed it unexpectedly into Lukien’s face. Lukien felt his nose explode in pain, saw the blood erupt in a blinding spray. He staggered back, instinctively bringing up his blade to block the blow he knew was coming. The sword clattered as Trager’s blade slide down its length, barely missing his armored fingers. Blinded and in pain, Lukien fought to clear his face of blood. The awful pain drove him on, and again he pressed his attack, catching the surprised Trager once more in the torso. This time the general doubled over as the blade pierced his armor. But again he brought up his sword too soon for Lukien. Despite his pain his blade was everywhere, countering every blow Lukien mustered. Finally Lukien broke off, exhausted and blind. This time Trager didn’t counter. Both men took a much needed rest, panting as they paced around each other like maddened tigers. Lukien wiped the blood from his eye and saw that Trager was staggering, favoring his wounded side. Blood ran down the general’s silver armor.
“You won’t beat me,” Trager seethed. “I won’t let you!”
Lukien thought his lungs would burst. Fighting to catch his breath he spat, “All talk, Trager. Always all talk!”
The insult baited Trager into striking. He plunged madly ahead, his sword out before him like the horns of a bull. Lukien danced aside and brought down his blade, catching Trager in the back of the thigh. But Trager didn’t howl. Instead he brought his blade about and smashed it into Lukien’s back. The stroke paralyzed Lukien. The last bit of air shot from his lungs in a jolt of pain. He stumbled, falling to his knees, his back on fire with agony. Hardly able to move, he looked down and saw he was again at the cliff’s edge. Again the rocks beneath him threatened to give. Far below, the wide eyes of Trager’s men watched in horror. Lukien struggled for strength. Trager was behind him somewhere, stalking slowly forward. There was only one chance left, and he had to time it perfectly.
He didn’t turn or listen for the approach. He barely even moved. Instead he watched the faces of the Liirians, sure that they would betray the death blow. A second later he saw their eyes widen just as Trager’s shadow fell on the rocks. With his last bit of strength he lifted his sword and moved aside, pushing it into Trager’s descending belly. Trager’s blade fell from his fingers and tumbled into the canyon. Lukien lay gasping on his knees, his old adversary impaled like an insect on his sword. A ball of blood gushed from Trager’s mouth. Lukien held him there for all the world to see.
“You’re beaten,” he whispered hatefully. “I’m still the best!”
Exhausted and dazed, his back screaming with pain, Lukien pulled his blade from Trager’s belly and got to his feet, kicking the general onto his back. He stared down into the man’s contorted face. Trager looked up at him, coughing blood from his punctured innards. A strange smile swam on his face.
“I’m right, you know,” he gasped. “You were always Akeela’s favorite.”
The words struck Lukien as hard as any sword. He knelt down beside the dying Trager, looking at a man who might have been so much greater, if only he hadn’t been forced to contend with a legend. He realized that he had won, and that never again would Trager haunt him. It was time to give the man his due.
“I know,” he said softly.
Trager’s expression became suddenly calm. “Finish me,” he croaked. “Don’t let me die like this.”
“A man like you deserves the worst of deaths,” said Lukien. “I should let the vultures eat you.”
“But you won’t,” gasped Trager. His odd smile twisted. “You owe me. You know you do.”
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