The Eyes of God by John Marco Page B

closed his collar around his throat and decided to hurry. The alley was long and narrow and spattered with garbage. The rain barrels along the gutters gurgled with filthy water from the rooftops after last night’s downpour. Aral quickened his pace, but before he took another step he saw something up ahead, a shimmering along the left-hand wall. His heart began to pound. Out of the wall, or emerging from its shadow, stepped the woman from the Red Lion. Her patchwork coat writhed around her, changing colors, mimicking the alley. She stepped out into the center of the street, facing Aral, and once again the fractured smile appeared.
    “You left before we finished our conversation.”
    Aral panicked. He whirled to dash away, but discovered the monstrous bald man behind him, blocking his path. The behemoth stalked toward him, his arms outstretched. Aral stumbled backward. The woman remained in front of him. Determined to push her aside, he turned and started toward her—until she opened her coat.
    The amulet around her neck glowed furiously. Aral’s feet stuck to the floor, glued in place by its compelling aura. A strangling terror seized him. He tried to scream but couldn’t, and soon the big man was upon him, wrapping his massive arms around his chest and pulling him from the ground. Aral struggled but his attacker was impossibly strong, and his iron grip squeezed the air from Aral’s lungs. He lifted Aral effortlessly, hauling him toward one of the rain barrels. The little woman scurried alongside them, looking up at Aral as he squirmed.
    “You shouldn’t have done it,” she said. Her face was set with sad anger. “There was no reason to kill her.”
    Aral finally found his voice. “I had to!” he screamed. “Please!”
    “Had to? An infant?”
    “Yes! She was blind! She would have been nothing!”
    “She would have been your daughter,” snapped the woman.
    They had stopped near one of the rain barrels. Aral lay pinned over the giant’s shoulder, unable to break free. His terror peaked.
    “Don’t do it!” he pleaded. “Don’t!”
    The tiny woman sighed dolefully. “People like you make my work so much harder,” she said. “Now you will learn a lesson, Aral Vale. We are all beautiful in the eyes of God.”
    With a small nod from his mistress, the giant took hold of Aral, inverting him and plunging him headfirst into the barrel. Cold water rushed down his throat; blackness enveloped him. He screamed, releasing a stream of bubbles. The giant’s viselike grip held his legs, driving him again and again against the bottom of the barrel. Aral felt his lungs exploding, then watched an image of his wife flash before him, cradling their newborn daughter.
    It was the last thought he had before dying.

6
     

     
    A fter a week of easy travel, Akeela arrived home to Koth.
    The capital city of Liiria gleamed like a white diamond at his homecoming, the spring sun setting it alight with the pure glow of morning. It had been an uneventful journey for the young king and his party of Chargers, except for a minor detour forced by the swelling river Kryss. The solitude had given Akeela time to consider things, too, like his peace with Reec and his perfect new wife. For the first time Akeela could remember, his life was flawless. He missed his father, but that emptiness was ebbing fast, filled by the day-to-day burdens of kingship. Now he reveled in his title and in the sweeping changes he intended to make. He had daydreamed throughout his entire journey home, whistling while he rode with his comrade and soldier, Breck, and staring up at the stars at night, looking for Cassandra’s face. But he had never really found her in the heavens, because she was more beautiful than that, and no constellation could rival her. He was already lovestruck and he knew it, and despite Lukien’s warnings, he planned to give his love to Cassandra completely.
    As Akeela approached Koth, his heralds rode forward to the castle, informing