His Ancient Heart (9 page)

He reached into a pocket and withdrew a coin. It was an old thing, a relic from the time before. They had found it during one of their raids, in the home of a merchant who had come across the cache while digging a new well in his yard. The merchant had been excited to find such a thing. Too excited. Even when Spyne had arrived to claim it, he had talked excitedly about the idea of ancient money, and how it looked to be older than the Empire itself.
 

They had buried him and his family in the well he had dug.

He flipped the coin in his fingers. He had been carrying it for a half-dozen years or so. The back of it was so faded as to be almost flat. The face, the flip-side, was also worn and weathered, but he could still trace the edge's of the face etched into it. A woman's face, stoic and strong. He knew he had seen the real thing once, which was why he had kept the coin. His mind never let him remember her in detail.

"Today, you stand in for her." It had been the first, and last time he had loved. The last time he had truly felt. He put the coin to his lips, kissed it gently, and threw it into the pit. Then he turned and began climbing back through the rubble, to where his group was resting. He caught Worm out of the corner of his eye as he did. The painted man was kneeling in the grass, looking down at a portion of the ground that had been torn up by a massive claw.

A dragon, Spyne knew. A Shifter. He wasn't sure what it was doing here in Genesia, or how it had survived. He was sure Talon had something to do with its escape.

"Worm, did you find something?" Spyne asked.
 

The man looked up, and then put his palm flat against the earth. He looked out to where the grass had been burned away, to where it was obvious there had been a battle. The claw and scorch marks were concentrated there, the earth lain to waste. He pointed out towards a copse of trees some distance away.

"Get on with it," Spyne said.

Worm stood up and began moving along the earth, his body contorting. He leaned forward with his head out, then crouched low, and then ran ahead, hopping over Cain and racing out into the burned grass.
 

He looked down, rocking and turning, his head shooting forward, his mouth opening and closing. He turned around and took a swordsman's position, crouched and ready. He played both parts of the battle, as though he had been there and seen it.
 

He twisted and twirled, moves that Spyne recognized. Talon's moves. His style. His fight. He even gained the wounded limp in his step that
he
had claimed Talon would have. How Worm knew it, how he could recreate his actions as though he was there... Spyne wanted to ask. He knew he would never get an answer.

The pantomime continued, so well executed that Spyne could almost picture the scene. He found himself wishing that the dragon had won the day.
 

It seemed that it might have, because Worm came forward, mouth open, arms wide, leaping in towards the invisible Talon on the other side. He switched roles, becoming the General, sword raised in a weak defense.

Then he stopped.

There was no warning, no reason. One moment Worm was Talon, the next he wasn't. The painted Historian stood stiff and silent, as though the sudden change had even confused him. Then he turned and looked back at Spyne.

"Well? What happened next?"

Worm shrugged and dropped into a sitting position.
 

"You don't know?"

He didn't respond.

Spyne felt the anger rising. "Historians, on your feet."

They were completely spent, but they didn't question the order. The four remaining soldiers forced themselves to stand.

"Explore the area, from here to the trees. Talon was here. We need to know which direction he fled in."

They spread out evenly across the field and began slogging back towards the trees, their legs unsteady in the effort. Spyne and Worm followed behind them.

"My Lord, have a look at this," Peyn said a short time later.

They had passed through the trees at the edge of the clearing, following a set of deep footprints they had discovered in the undamaged earth further away. Footprints that Spyne knew had been made by a juggernaut. He found them curious at the time, because they appeared to be moving away from the tower in an odd gait. One of the feet was making a much deeper impression than the other, which also looked to be turned at a strange angle.
 

When he caught up to Peyn within a smaller clearing, he understood.

"He has a juggernaut?" Spyne whispered to himself, wondering how that could be so. He stared down at the dead creature, at its amputated ankle and the larger, bent foot that rested beside it.

"A juggernaut, General?" Ollie said. His face was pale from the sight of the creature. "What is it?"

"It is more than you need to know," Spyne said.
 

"He was here, General," Peyn said. Spyne found his man kneeling over the grass, holding up a bar of red crystal. "These look just like yours."

Spyne glanced down at the bars across his chest. "If he had his decoration, he must be wearing the blacks. Worm, do you know which way they went?"

He pointed towards the slope, a few miles wide of where they had first descended. A path that would have led Talon and his juggernaut back to Varrow City.

Where is your whore, Talon?
 

They had found no sign of the Cursed girl. No footprints, no clues. Was she buried in the rubble somewhere?

He looked back at Peyn, ready to give the order to move out. He saw the weariness on the man's face as if for the first time. He saw it on the others' as well.
 

It made him angry. Hard men or not, they were still men. They needed to rest. To eat and sleep. It was getting dark in a hurry.
 

"We'll rest here," Spyne said. "Two hours."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Talon

"What are we going to tell the men?" Fehri asked. "They all saw me bring in Silas Morningstar."

After the Overlord had made the decision to support Talon, he had explained to her that her jailers had already offered their loyalty, as had one of her captains. She had been shocked at how quickly he had rallied support from those who were assumed to be loyal, though the defections had highlighted just how fractured all of the Empire truly was. She had taken it upon herself to call Trock and his men down to the dungeon to dress them down for their treason, and then to force them to swear their loyalty anew in her presence.
 

She joined them when they did.

Now they were sitting around a small table that had been brought down to the dungeon. Talon, Caela, Fehri, and Trock were seated, while the other jailers and Oz stood behind them.
 

"No," Talon said. "They saw you bring in a man with white hair and blue eyes who killed three of
his
soldiers, along with a large accomplice." He looked over at Caela. "The Overlord will tell them that the man who was captured was not Silas Morningstar, and that he will be hanged in the morning for the murder of their comrades. Unfortunately, the large one was killed trying to escape. Fehri, you will help her spread the word."

"As you command, General," Fehri said.

"Hanged?" Trock said. "How are you going to pull that off?"

"I have two hearts," Talon said. "If one of them is stopped, the other will bring me back again."

Trock's face paled. "Two hearts?"

If the Overlord was surprised, she didn't show it. "Once you're dead, Captain Fehri can take your body to a potter's grave outside the city. When you wake up, he will escort you to wherever Eryn is waiting, and help you secret her back here."

"It is pleased to follow First of Nine," Oz said.

"No, Oz," Talon replied. "Not this time. You have to stay here. That is an order."

The juggernaut launched a puff of steam to express its dissatisfaction.

"Caela, what of the other Generals?" Talon asked. "I overheard a Mediator say that Thornn has been sent to chase the dragon."

"Dragon?" Trock asked.

"The name of the creature that attacked Tibbleton," Talon said.

"
He
doesn't share the placement of
his
Generals with me," the Overlord replied. "My orders were to assist them in any way necessary. I helped General Clau catch up to you." She said it as a statement, not an apology.
 

"He did catch up to me. And I caught up to him. I tried to convince him of the truth, but
his
hold over him was too strong."
 

"We must be very cautious about all of this," Caela said. "I have the power of my station, but it will mean nothing if word gets out that I am offering succor to the rebellion. I know some of you have families. You understand the harm you can cause with a loose tongue."

"Aye," Wallace said from his place behind Trock. "We do, my Lady. If you don't mind my asking, my Lady, how come you're helping the General?"

She turned her attention to Talon, studying the intensity of his face. He certainly looked like a hawk at the moment, though he appeared to be molting. "I too served the General. Many years ago."

"My Lady," Trock said. "You look half my age."

"Overlords don't age like you do," Talon said.
 

"It's because I'm Cursed," Caela replied.

"Cursed?" Trock pushed his chair back instinctively. "My... My Lady. I don't understand."

"It is a wizard," Oz said.

Talon got to his feet. "The Mediators are Cursed. All of them. The Overlords are the most powerful of the Mediators.
He
can cure them, instead of killing them.
He
chooses not to."

"My niece was Cursed," one of the jailers, Lucent, said. "You're saying she didn't have to die?"

"Yes."
 

"Heden take
him
," Lucent muttered.

"I doubt even Heden wants
him
," Talon said. "Caela, let us set this plan in motion. Eryn's life depends on our haste."

"Yes, General." The Overlord stood and gave him a slight bow, which he returned. She spun and swept from the room, leaving a momentary silence behind her.

"Can't believe I'm conspiring against the Empire with the Overlord," Trock said. "Guess I shouldn't have been asking Amman for a little more excitement in my life."

"That will teach you to be careful what you pray for," Fehri said. "General, by your leave. I will go and spread the news of our case of mistaken identity."

"Of course. Fehri, one more thing?"

"Yes, General?"

"Can you get Oz's sword back, and make sure any comments about its size are taken as exaggeration?"
 

Fehri laughed and bowed. "As you say."
 

Talon turned to Trock, running his hand over the irregular clumps of hair. "Commander, can you please get me a razor?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Talon

"Are you ready, General?" Trock asked.

"As ready as I can be," Talon replied, shifting his wrists beneath the manacles that bound them.
 

Three hours had passed since the Overlord had left them. Three hours to organize a public hanging of the murderer who killed three of
his
soldiers in cold blood. The murderer who most definitely was not Silas Morningstar.

His head was bald now, his face shaved and clean. They had changed him into prisoner's clothes - a simple stained linen tunic, pants, and sandals. They had bound his hands and feet in chains. Trock had punched him in the jaw for good measure, leaving a nice welt and a split lip.
 

"Crowd is huge," Bryant said. "I don't think word got out that you aren't you, my Lord."

"I think they're just eager to see someone hung. It's been a while since anyone dared kill a soldier inside the city," Trock said. He picked up a burlap sack from the table. "Just one more thing to do, General."

"Do it," Talon said.

Trock took the sack and put it over Talon's head, leaving him in near darkness. He felt the rope slip around his neck, tying the sack closed. They would take it off once he was on the dais, too far from the soldiers or the commoners for the truth to be easily recognized or understood. In the meantime, it was suffocating inside, making breathing a challenge of its own.

"You sure you're going to live through this, General?" Trock asked.
 

"Not completely," he replied. If the damage were too severe, not even his ebocite heart could save him. What choice did he have?

"May Amman be with you then, my Lord," Trock said. "Bryant, open the door."

A path had been made from the dungeon to the back of the courtyard, where a dais had been hastily installed, complete with a hangman's noose. It wasn't a long journey between the two points when it moved in a straight line, but the route had been made serpentine to allow more time for the gathered crowds to harass Talon with insults, and get out their frustration over the men Oz had killed. That the people were being controlled by soldiers who would have liked to join them, or see justice done themselves, made the walk even more dangerous.

"We have your back, General," Wallace said, taking position to Talon's left. The jailers were responsible for getting him there safely.

"Here we go," Trock said. Talon could hear the door whine when it swung open, and a roar go up from the crowd as he was brought out into the morning air. From the sound of it, nearly all of Varrow had come for the occasion.

"Filthy son of Heden!"
 

It was the first thing Talon heard, and it came from his right. Close. Too close. He heard the sound of metal on metal, and then a gurgle.

"Soldier tried to knife you," Trock said at his back. "Sous cut him down."

They moved out along the path, the jailers guiding his steps. The yelling was too loud for him to make out specific insults from among the crowd, though as they approached the dais he was surprised to hear his name more than once.

"Get back," Wallace said. "Get back you lot."