His Ancient Heart (7 page)

"We came all this way for some ruins?" Rose asked.

Spyne turned, finding the man a few steps behind him. He rushed him, knocking aside his defenses and putting his hands around his throat, using it to drag him to the edge.

"Ruins?" he whispered. This was where he had lived. This was where he had changed. This was his legacy, their legacy, and Talon had brought it to dust.

"General. General, please." Rose's voice strained beneath the hands. "I'm sorry."

It wasn't enough. Not this time. The anger burned and boiled in him, stealing away any sense of logic. He squeezed even tighter.

"Do you know what I sacrificed for these ruins? Do you know what I gave?"

He didn't remember all of it. He remembered enough. His eyes closed, his mind putting the tower back together, standing it upright. The reactor. He could remember the smell of the flowers that lined the corridors, giving off their natural phosphorescent light. He could remember the music and the children. The majesty of what they were building, the thrumming of the ebocite core.
 

It had been beautiful.
 

He remembered his wife. Simple, plain, and wonderful.
 

She had been beautiful, too.

War had stolen her away. War stole it all away.
 

He remembered the pain.
 

The magic was untested. It was all theory and guesswork, based on what little they knew about the enemy. Creating them, creating the Nine, had been painful. Beyond painful. A pain he still carried with him. So many had died. So many had been incompatible. Why had he survived? Why was he here now?

Rose's hands were on his, trying to pry them apart. His face was turning pale, his eyes beginning to bulge. The rest of the Historians were motionless, watching him, waiting for him to finish his work. They were hard men, and they were smart men. At least, smart enough to know when to stay silent. Most of them.

"He took it," Spyne said. "He took my home."

The promise. That's why he was here. He remembered the promise. He had to. It was the only thing that made sense to him. It was the only thing to hold onto, when nothing else brought him any feeling at all. It was the reason he had led the juggernauts through Genesia, slaughtering every man, woman, and child they discovered. It was the reason he burned the books, destroyed the past.
 

It was the reason he had murdered his wife and daughter.
 

Their bones were down there, mixed with all the others.

The anger flared, a fire burning ever brighter. He lifted Rose off his feet, squeezing one last time with a strength that was beyond human. The man's spine crumbled beneath the pressure, stopping his pleading for good. He hurled the body away from him, dropping to his knees and burying his face in his hands even as it rolled down the slope to join the others.

He had never remembered it before. Not until he had been sent here. Not until he had seen it. Who he was. What he was. He wasn't supposed to know this. The promise wasn't supposed to be broken. Not now. Not ever.
 

He hated Talon for that, too.

The sound of boots on the ground in front of him brought him back to his senses. His head lifted, and he found Worm descending the slope, everything about him calm and steady. He felt the anger again, the internal sun that threatened to burn him alive from within. It had been cooled somewhat by the violence. It sparked at the sight of the Historian moving ahead of him. It wasn't enough for him to act on it.

"Worm, hold," he said.
 

Worm stopped and looked back, waiting.

He couldn't end him, the way he had Rose. Ash, Cain, even Peyn, yes. Not Worm.
 

"With me," Spyne said, straightening up and turning his face to stone. "Talon was here. He's gone now. I know it. We missed him." He looked out across the ridge line. He couldn't have missed by much.

"Shall we turn around, my Lord?" Peyn asked, careful to stay a few paces behind.

"No. We go down."
 

He didn't give a reason. He didn't need to.
He
wouldn't have liked the decision, but Spyne had a feeling
he
had known sending him here was a risk. That his memories were a risk.
He
also would have to know that Spyne was the most loyal of the Nine. The one least likely to forget the promise. The one who would act out of emotion, out of anger.
 

He had forgotten for a thousand years, and now Talon Rast had forced him to remember.

His wife was down there. His daughter. His home.
 

In ruins.

All of it destroyed.

If Talon had his way, for nothing.

He would find his former friend, and crush him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Talon

Word traveled quickly among the soldiers that Silas Morningstar had been caught.
 

The groups of guards that had been spread throughout the city keeping lookout for him were recalled, and they waited at the gates to the palace as Fehri and his own company of men led Talon and his brute of a companion through.

Talon didn't balk under their gaze. He didn't flinch at their insults and jibes, their spittle and anger. He kept his head up, his posture proud, confronting them, daring them to lose their own sense of control, to push their way past the soldiers to get a piece of him. He was the Liar, their enemy. He had killed their brothers in arms. He had
killed
an
Overlord
.

Oz was ambivalent behind him, not reacting at all to the noise or the emotion. They hadn't tried to remove its hat or cloak, perhaps out of fear after what it had done to their comrades. It remained nothing more than a beast of a man to them, trailing behind its master.

"Where is your whore?" a voice cried out from the crowd in front of the gates, even as they began to swing open.

"Yeah, I'd love to get a taste of that," another shouted.

"How much?" yelled a third.

Talon refused to let the words affect him, though they boiled him on the inside. His mind was locked on the image of Eryn as he last saw her. It was the reason he was here. It was why he was enduring this.
 

He raised his hand up to scratch his face, drawing a sharp look from the guard next to him, who inched his sword closer.
 

"Watch yourself, Liar."

"Just an itch," Talon said.
 

Fehri shifted in his saddle to glance back at them. After seeing the soldier's face when he showed up to claim them, Talon was no longer sure that the so-called servant of Amman was still going to see their plan through. He couldn't believe he was enough of an actor for his face to have paled and twisted in such a way of his own accord.

Although, perhaps the fact that he was still alive was testament to the Captain's word. Even if he had been disgusted by the violence, Fehri had made a promise, and Talon had placed his trust. It wouldn't be in the spirit of Amman to break it.

"Take his head!"
 

The shouts continued.
 

"Cut him in half!"

"Put him in the guillotine!"

They marched through the gates, to the large courtyard at the front of the palace. The barracks were on the left side, and hundreds of soldiers had risen from their sleep to see what the fuss was about. They stood in linen pants and bare chests, joining in the fury of the crowd, adding their shouts and curses. The entrance to the dungeon would be on the right side, closer to the palace proper. Their escort shifted that way, leading them away from the others.

A small bastion was the only external hint of the prison below the palace, a block of simple stone with an iron door at its center, and a stoic elder soldier standing in front of it.
 

"Commander Trock," Fehri said, dismounting his horse and sharing a bow with the soldier. "I bring you Silas Morningstar, and one of his outlaw companions. He is to be interred at once."

Trock. When Talon heard the name, his mind fell from Eryn, back to somewhere else. A battlefield, somewhere. He saw the man, so much younger than he appeared now. He was infantry then, a boy of seventeen or eighteen. He tried to place the battle, the date, the reasons. All he saw was his face.

Trock smiled and looked at Talon. "The Liar captured at last. The Overlord will be tickled. Me and my boys will take it from here."

Fehri shook his head. "I captured him. I'm responsible for his safety. I'll lead him down. The Overlord will want to speak to him before she decides his fate."

"Death, for sure," Trock said. "As you wish, my Lord."

He knocked on the door, and it swung inward. A half-dozen jailers in faded leathers came forward to claim them.
 

Fehri turned to his man. "Wait here. Make sure the Overlord is sent word of this one's arrival."

"Yes, my Lord."

Fehri moved in behind Talon and Oz, holding his sword at the ready. "Shall we?"

Trock took the lead, with the other jailers surrounding them. Oz barely fit through the door, scraping it with its shoulder, its hat threatening to be pulled from its head. The bastion had only a small station inside for the guards, and then an iron gate that led to a set of stairs which dove deep below the palace. The gate was already open, inviting them in.

The iron door closed and locked the moment they were through, the mechanism echoing in the small space.
 

"Won't be leaving now," one of the jailers said.

"Or ever," another added.

"Quiet," Trock said. He turned and looked back, and then approached them. "You won't need that in here." He reached up, grabbing the brim of Oz's hat and ripping it away. When he saw what was beneath it, he blanched. "What is this?"

Oz's arm shot out from under the cloak, its hand wrapping around Trock's neck. "It is One Zero. It is called Oz."

There was a moment of silence as each of the other jailers recovered from the shock of the juggernaut, and then they started to reach for their weapons.
 

"Wait," Fehri said. He was as surprised by Oz as any of them, his own eyes widening at the sight of the creature. "Hold your blades before it kills him."

"Trock," Talon said, ignoring everything else. "I remember you. The field is foggy, but your face isn't. You were a young boy. Eighteen at most. You always favored the short sword." He closed his eyes, the words helping bring the event to clarity. "You killed a rebel soldier, a girl. She was only fourteen."
 

He could see it now. Trock on his knees at her side, looking down into her lifeless eyes, tears running from his own. The battle raged around them, and General Rast fought his way through the pitch to grab the soldier by the neck and bring him to his feet. 'Stand and fight, or I'll kill you myself,' he had screamed at the boy.
 

Trock could barely breathe through Oz's grip, but his eyes showed he remembered.
 

Talon opened his eyes. "I picked you up and ordered you to fight. You did well that day." There was no pride in his words.

Murderer.

"Rrrmmmmm." Trock tried to speak, but couldn't.
 

"Oz, let go," Talon said.
 

"It is pleased to follow First of Nine." Oz released him.
 

Trock put his hands to his neck to rub it, turning to face Talon. "How? How could you know about that?" He leaned in closer, his dark eyes staring into Talon's blue. "General?" He paused, trying to work out the years. "It can't be. I mean, there were rumors coming from the other side of the Killorns. Rumors that the Liar was calling himself General Talon Rast. I didn't believe them. How could I? You were old then, and I'm an old man now."

"Yes, you are." He had to be sixty or more. "Not as old as me, though. Not by half. You know me, Trock. You served under me. You know who and what I was. You know how I followed
his
laws,
his
command. Yet here I am. The Liar. The most wanted man in the Empire. I have turned against
him
, Trock. Do you know why?"

He shook his head. "They say there is a girl. A Cursed girl. Did she enchant you?"

"No. She saved me. There is another girl. A young girl dead on the field, her blood on your sword, your tears on her chest. There are hundreds more like her. Thousands. They were forgotten once. No more."

"Are you going to kill us?" one of the jailers asked.

"There has been enough killing for today," Fehri said, before Talon could reply. "General, we can lock them up to keep them quiet."

Talon considered for a moment, and then nodded. If he could convince the Overlord to help him, she would decide what to do with them. If not, it wouldn't matter. "Enough for ten lifetimes, with more to come before this is over. Surrender your weapons, and you won't be harmed."

"Wait," Trock said. "General, you don't need to lock us up. We won't give you away." He pointed at his men. "You don't remember all of them, do you? How could you, with so many soldiers under your command? Wallace? Bryant?"

Talon looked at the others. He hadn't noticed them before. They were all wrinkled and grey. "I'm sorry, I don't.
He
took them. My memories.
He
made me forget when I learned the truth.
He
has a cure, Trock. A cure for the Curse. Yet he kills them.
He
buries the truth, buries the past, and forces us to bury those who question him. They call me the Liar, but this Empire is built on
his
lies, not mine."
 

All of them stared at him, trying to absorb what he said. Trying to absorb that fact that he existed at all.

"I never forgot her," Trock said at last. "The girl. I've carried her face with me for all of these years. The only thing that ever brought me comfort was that I killed her in the name of the Empire. That I killed her to keep us safe. I served under you, General. If you say the Empire is corrupt, I believe you, even if it means that the blood on my hands is as dirty as it comes." He dropped to his knee and bowed his head. "I swore fealty to you once before in
his
name. I'll swear fealty to you again if you'll have me, for all of those whose names I don't know."