His Ancient Heart (28 page)

Eryn remembered the painted man. He had resisted her magic somehow and had almost caught her. She wondered who was more dangerous, him or Spyne?

"It is this way," Oz said. It had finished the second can, and while it didn't look any different, when it lifted its arm to point, the motion seemed smoother and made less noise.

"East?" Eryn said. "What is to the east?"

"A way around?" Wallace said.

Trock shook his head. "Portnis, and then the Killorns. You could head to Portnis and then get a barge up the Gorges, but that'll take weeks, and I think they'll have an awful mess of questions when they see Oz here."

"It is this way," Oz repeated.

"We can't take the Bridge," Gesper said. "There's sure to be too many soldiers crawling around. We might need to take the Gorges."

"Even if we do, we're better off heading to Fulton and going downstream. It will be faster by days."

"It is this way," Oz said for the third time. A heavy puff of steam suggested it was growing impatient.

"What is that way?" Eryn asked.

"It is First of Nine. It is this way. It is pleased."
 

Oz started walking east.
 

"Oz, where are you going?"
 

"It is this way." Oz paused and pointed south. "It is that way. It is coming."

"Spyne?"

"Ninth of Nine. It is coming."

"The metal man seems to know where he wants to go," Wallace said.

Eryn walked over to Oz, getting herself in front of it. "Oz, Talon is that way." She pointed north.
 

"First of Nine. It is this way." Oz pointed east.

"Maybe Talon didn't make it to Edgewater?" Trock said. "What if he got cut off and had to change his course?"

If he didn't make it to Edgewater, he would be no closer to finding the Refinery. Or, maybe he had discovered the Refinery, and it was to the east. "How do you know where Talon is?"

"It remembers."

"You remember where the Refinery is?"

"No. It remembers."

The words didn't make any sense to her. She wished the juggernaut could speak like a person. It was a wonder the thing could speak at all.

"It is this way," Oz said again.

"What should we do, my Lady?" Trock asked.

Eryn didn't know what to do. She knew Edgewater was to the north, and Talon likely was too. Or could Trock be right, and he had been pushed east by the soldiers? Maybe he was heading to Portnis, to board a barge up the Gorges? Or was it something else? Something only the juggernaut seemed to know, but couldn't say clearly?

It was a construction of magic and metal, and yet when she had hugged it, it had hugged her back. There was something inside that ircidium plated shell. Some other kind of magic? Or something more?

"It is this way."

"My Lady?"

They were all looking at her. Expecting her to make the decision. They didn't seem to notice or care that she was a fifteen-year-old girl. They had decided that she was in charge.

She looked each of them in the eye, searching them to see what they thought she should do. Trock, Wallace and Gesper were all saying the same thing.
Tell us where to go, and we will follow.

They were good soldiers. Loyal to their General. There was fear in them, but it was a healthy fear.
 

At least I'm not the only one who is afraid.

"Oz, lead the way."

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Eryn

They followed the juggernaut east, through the woods for as long as possible, and then out into the open grassland and farms of eastern Varrow. They moved as fast as they could on foot, keeping a steady pace that left Eryn's legs numb from the effort, her heart pounding and her breath hard to come by. It was a speed that would be impossible to maintain for more than a day at most, and had not come without cost. The jailers had already stripped off their hauberks and helms, diverting north to leave them abandoned in the woods before returning.
 

Eryn could only imagine how they would appear to the first villager they stumbled upon. Her hair was still braided, and the fancy tiara still rested on her head, but from the neck down she was slicked in sweat. The blood she had cried stained the inside of the long shirt Wallace had given her, which hung from her like a potato sack. Her hands and feet remained covered by rich leather. She looked like an odd cross between a princess and a peon.

Then there were the soldiers. Wallace was bare-chested, his lean muscle mixed with older sagging skin, sword scars on his forearm and shoulder. Gesper was huffing and puffing, his rounder body struggling to keep up, his shirt clinging tightly to him. Trock moved as if nothing could affect him. He was sweating, he was dirty. His shirt had a long hole on the left side. Even so he was stoic, he breathed normally, and he didn't seem as though he would ever tire. If Eryn hadn't noticed the slight wince of his eyes every time he took a step, she would have thought he too was one of the Nine.

Finally, there was Oz. The one-armed man of metal and magic moved smoothly across the terrain, the liquid in the cans having seemed to renew it somewhat. Eryn could still see it pool and drip from one of the joints in the rusted, dented, and chipped ircidium armor, a bleeding wound that would never heal. Even so, the creature continued onward, repeating "it is this way" from time to time, as though driven by something beyond its control.

"Reminds me of the time I made off with Anela Treyn," Trock said. "That was some, what, thirty-five, forty years ago? Such a long time. It was just after I returned from a campaign in the north."

They marched through tall stalks of corn, pushing them aside as they moved. Eryn had forced Oz to divert into them in order to help disguise their progress. The cornfields went on for what seemed like forever, so large that the owner's farmhouse wasn't even visible from where they were.

It must be owned by a noble, to be so large
.

They had grown both corn and wheat in her village, on single acre plots that surrounded the communal square. She'd never seen anything like this.

"Ah, she was a beauty," Trock continued. "Hair as gold as the kernels on these here stalks, skin like milk. Her thighs were a gift from Amman." He glanced back at Eryn, ready to apologize.

"Go on," Eryn said. "Quietly."

Trock's stories were keeping them entertained and helping them to keep going despite their exhaustion. It seemed that no matter what terrain they crossed, the old soldier had a tale to match it.

"Her father was like an eagle, the way he kept his beady eyes on her. He thought she was pure, and wanted to keep her that way." He chuckled. "She had other ideas, and a great interest in muscular soldiers."

"Muscular?" Gesper said.

"It was forty years ago," Trock replied. He was still in fine shape for a man of his age. "She comes running into the tavern where me and some of Talon's boys are drinking. We were coming back south to see our families before mustering again in the spring. She bursts into the tavern, her eyes wild. She looks around at each of us, and we look back at her. I says to her, 'are you well, my Lady?'. Of course, that's not what I was thinking. I was thinking," he glanced back at Eryn again, "you have the most amazing jugs I ever seen. And she wasn't carrying a water pitcher." He laughed again. His men laughed with him.

"It is this way," Oz said.

"So, I get up, and she comes over to me and grabs my hand, and the next thing I know she's leading me out of the town and into cornfields just like this. She forced herself on me right there in the middle of the field."

"You're full of it," Wallace said.

"No, I'm not. It's a true story."

"It is not," Gesper agreed. "No woman is going to force herself on an ugly mug like you."

"I wasn't ugly back then."

"No respectable woman would force themselves on anyone," Eryn said.

"I never said she was respectable."

Their voices were growing louder in their banter. Eryn put a finger to her lips. "Shhh."
 

They all fell silent at once.
 

They stayed that way for a few minutes. Then Trock said, "Best girl I've ever lain with. Only time I ever done it outside, too."

"Now I know you're lying," Wallace said. "You told us about Urla Grep not three hours ago, when we-"

One moment, they were surrounded by high stalks of corn.
 

The next, they were surrounded by crossbows.

The men fell in around them, appearing through the vegetation as if they were spirits, close enough that if they fired they wouldn't have been able to miss on purpose. They were wearing dark cloaks, their faces hidden beneath layered cloth.

Brigands? They aren't wearing army blacks.

"Oz, hold," Eryn shouted. The juggernaut was already reaching for its sword. As strong as it was, it wouldn't have been able to cut them down before they all received a bolt to the eye. It stopped moving.

"Who are you?" a man asked from Eryn's left. He was tall, nearly Wallace's height. All she could see of him were his brown eyes.

Eryn was still carrying Wilem's wand. She clenched it tighter in her grip, ready to call on her magic. The man seemed to notice the motion, and he looked down at it. His eyes darted back up to her.

"You're no Mediator," he said. He examined her more closely, and again Eryn was aware of how she must appear. "From the looks of you, you've had a run of a bad fortune of late."

He eyed the soldiers, and then found Oz. He registered a moment of fear, but he didn't speak. Eryn gripped the wand a little tighter. Whatever he was planning to do, she would be ready to defend them.

He turned back to her, and then slowly made a motion with his hand. The crossbows dropped.
 

"Eryn Albion, I presume." He looked over at the soldiers again. "Which of you is General Talon Rast?"

"None of them. Talon isn't here," Eryn said. She still wasn't sure what the man's intentions were, but the lowered crossbows were a good sign. "You know who I am. Who are you?"

"My name is Finch," the man said, reaching up and pulling the cloth from his face. He was a younger man, with a large nose and a strong jaw that carried a few days of stubble. "Welcome to the rebellion."

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Eryn

Finch and his companions led Eryn and hers from the cornfields, two miles to the crest of a short hill. Their camp was nestled on the other side, hidden on three sides by the hilltops, and on the fourth by a row of trees that had been painstakingly dug up and transported to the spot.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to build up another berm?" Trock asked, looking down at the setup. There were perhaps a hundred people in the small camp, including women and children. They sat around cook fires kept intentionally low, sewed and laundered clothing, or put the edges of swords to stone to keep them sharp. A man in the back watched over a small pen containing half a dozen horses while a dog chased a thrown stick.

"It would have," Finch agreed. "The Empire Road passes only a mile or so from the southern side, and when we spotted the site, we decided a berm would have stood out too much at that angle. It was tricky enough to get the trees out of the wood and cart them over here without being seen, though General Rast's escapades have done wonders for our ability to organize. Most of
his
army has been so busy hunting him down, they've forgotten about the camps like ours." He looked at Eryn when he said the last part.

"Surely the patrols have come this way?" Eryn said.

"We've seen the patrols go through, but only one has come over the hill. We dealt with them." He pointed to the north of the camp, where it was clear the earth had been recently dug. "
He
has too many soldiers to keep track of them all, especially now."

Finch led them down the hill. The movement attracted the eyes of the camp, and all other activities stopped as everyone turned to watch them. Eryn could feel their gazes pass over her, most of them settling on the juggernaut, who now followed behind.

A woman at one of the fires stood and walked over to Finch, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "You're back. I was getting worried." She looked at Eryn again, then the soldiers, then Oz, and then back to Eryn. She dropped to her knees in front of her. "My Lady. It is an honor."

Eryn could feel the heat of her face and the jump of her heart. Why was this woman kneeling in front of her? She had done nothing to deserve such treatment.

The other villagers approached them. Men, women, children. As they arrived, they followed the lead of the first, dropping to their knees in subjugation before her.
 

"My Lady," they said.

"I... I don't understand this," Eryn said.

"You're a hero," Finch said, following them to his knees. "You and the General."

"No. I'm not a hero. All I want is justice. Please, on your feet, all of you. I am no better than any of you are. My name is Eryn. Eryn Albion. That is all I ever want to be."

"It's too late for that," a new voice said.
 

It was one she had heard before. She turned, seeking the speaker. He got to his feet near the center of the gathering. She knew him. She and Talon had freed him from the Washfall mines.

"You are the Hero of Elling, and now the Champion of the Cursed," Loshe said. He smiled. "Word has already spread of your escape from Varrow, and how you killed over a hundred soldiers singlehandedly."

"That isn't true."
 

Even if it had been, Fehri had died, and the Overlord as well. Or worse, if Spyne figured out that she was helping them. It hadn't been worth it.

"Aye, it is true," Trock said. "I was there. I think it was more than that."

Eryn glared over at the Commander. "Trock!"

"You," Loshe said. "I know you. And you. I was in the palace dungeon for three days before I was brought to the mines. You're the jailer who watched over me. A soldier."

"An ally," Eryn said loudly, before the rest of the group had any chance to anger. "They helped me escape."