The Forever Knight: A Novel of the Bronze Knight (Books of the Bronze Knight) by John Marco Read Free Book Online Page A

entirely, and when I touched the sword it was almost like a normal blade at my side.
    Perhaps I had been hard on Malator, and perhaps his silence was just childish payback, but I was determined that he should be my servant now and not the other way around. Akari are kind and generous with their powers, but they aren’t angels, and they aren’t selfless. They see the world from a mountain peak none of us can ever reach, but there’s one thing they forget—they need us, we poor humans. I intended to remind Malator of that.
    Our fifth day in the desert was blazing hot. By noon the sun felt like fire on our hoods. The sand, which was everywhere now, blinded us as we tried to look ahead. We had already skirted south of Ganjor, making good progress east. Maybe two more days of riding and we’d be out of the desert. That alone was enough to give us confidence. With the sun mighty on our backs, I let Cricket drink her fill from our canteens. Head down, I rode without thinking.
    “Lukien?”
    Cricket’s voice took me out of my daydream.
    “Look at that,” she said, pointing north. A caravan of drowa riders were heading east as well, their path slowly crossing our own. They were still far away, but I knew they had seen us; the gait of their hairy mounts slowed a little.
    “Ganjeese,” I said.
    Cricket’s voice rose. “Really? How do you know that?”
    “First, because no one else would be traveling east. And look how they ride—like an arrowhead, you see?”
    “Uh huh.”
    “They ride like that to keep the rass away,” I said. “It doesn’t work.”
    We had gone all this way without seeing another soul. We were practically knocking on the door of the Bitter Kingdoms. And now Ganjeese. My hand went fast to my sword.
    “Malator? You still here?”
    I don’t know why I doubted it, because Malator barreled into my mind.
    Company?
    “Maybe trouble, maybe not,” I said. Cricket looked at me, but she knew who I was talking to. “We can’t avoid them.”
    “They’re coming this way,” said Cricket.
    “Hospitality of the desert. They’ll ask if we need anything, maybe try to trade.”
    “But they’re gonna know we’re from Jador.”
    “No way to hide it. Keep riding,” I said, “and don’t be afraid.”
    As we closed the distance I could see their expensive looking clothes, the kind of colored silks and dyed skins the wealthy of the city wore. There were four men, with a big, well-fed fellow leading them. He rode at the tip of the arrow, bouncing on his drowa with a scimitar strapped across his chest. A jet mustache glistened against his dark face. When we were finally close enough, he raised his hand in greeting.
    “Aman da Vala,” he called.
    The words mean ‘Vala watches us.’ Even Cricket understood, but as a girl she wasn’t supposed to return the greeting. I lifted my own hand and called back the response.
    “Vala kabar shahan.”
    ‘The great god Vala blesses us,’ I said, and didn’t believe a word of it. I brought my horse abreast with Cricket’s pony. The big man puzzled over my accent, looking at our clothes.
    “North,” he said. “You come from Ganjor?”
    “From Jador,” I answered and pulled back my hood.
    All of them—the big man and the younger ones behind him—fixed on my eye patch. The big man’s hand twitched like he might go for his weapon.
    “A one-eyed man from Jador,” he said, effortlessly using my own language. Instead of reaching for his scimitar he twirled his oiled mustache. “You are like I see when I have dreams of you, Bronze Knight of Liiria.”
    We’d all stopped dead in front of each other, and no one moved an inch closer. “Do you know me,
azizi
?” I asked, using the Ganjeese word for friend. Cricket was so quiet next to me that I thought she’d stopped breathing.
    “The desert is too hot for games,” said the big man. “I am Sariyah of Ganjor, and these are my sons . . .” He gestured to the others. “And you are Lukien of Liiria. How many