Talon (The Astor Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

After such a hasty journey I entered Jaria with tired eyes and an impatient heart. My house was just as I had left it a few weeks ago. I changed into some fresh clothes, but even though I was hungry, I forsook eating in favour of finding Namal.

Namal had been a master since before I was born—he had adopted the post of Archive Master seven years ago when the previous master passed away. Before that, he had been part of the Wolf-speakers, a group who spent their days petitioning the Lightmaker, Krii and Sy-tré to look after Jaria’s every need.

Along with three other masters, he answered to Elder Y’asa who was the same rank as Bessed. Y’asa, Bessed, Safton and Uvolde reported directly to Prime Arone. Should the prime ever fall it would be up to the four elders and sixteen masters to vote for a new prime.

A tent-like structure adjoined the main part of Namal’s lodging. The entry flap was pinned up, allowing the breeze to flow through. Namal’s Rada-kin, Josker, was standing in his front yard, wagging his tail and looking very pleased to see me. I patted him on the head and tickled under his left ear. I got the impression from the grey wolf that I was welcome to enter the tent without announcing myself.

Namal looked up from his writing desk as I stepped through the doorway. Without saying a word, I held up my scarred hands for him to see.

He got up at once and grasped my arms. ‘By the trees! How did that happen?’

‘Zeikas,’ I answered.

‘You strayed farther than Tez?’ he queried, hoping for an answer he knew would not come.

‘Nay,’ I replied.

His brown curly hair was beginning to grey. He suddenly looked older.

‘That’s just one of many changes, I’m afraid,’ Namal said hoarsely. ‘To have your Rada-kin taken so soon… I’m sorry our scouts haven’t located her. They are sure there’s a Zeika presence nearby but don’t know where.’

I glanced sideways. ‘I’m going out myself tomorrow.’

He nodded and spoke in his slow, rasping voice. ‘Don’t go alone.’

‘Who will go with me?’ I queried. ‘Doesn’t the Battle Commander already have people out searching?’

‘Elder Uvolde sent warriors as soon as we heard what had happened to you,’ Namal replied. ‘I’m certain she would understand your desire to go yourself, but you may need to go see her first.’

I knew Namal and Uvolde sometimes struggled to get along, so I didn’t take his instruction to see her lightly. Namal was the Archive Master or village historian, a bookish type, not a warrior. Elder Uvolde, on the other hand, was the Battle Commander, coordinating all the combat training and defensive efforts of Jaria. She was thickly muscled and athletic, a domineering woman with lightning fast reflexes and agility near equal to her lilac-tufted monkey Rada-kin.

‘I was going to find Bessed and Drea, next.’ I turned to exit the tent. ‘But perhaps I’ll run over to the fortress first. I presume that’s where I’ll find the battle commander?’

‘Forgive me,’ Namal said, following. ‘I had gotten used to the idea of your being bonded. I forgot you can’t tell where Uvolde is now without Rekala. She’s—’

As I pushed through the open tent flap, I came face-to-face with two moving bodies. A tall, black-haired man was wrestling with Feera, the village Anzaii. She was wearing a blue robe with a jewel-encrusted belt and, at first, I thought perhaps the man was trying to steal the belt from her.

The man shoved Feera into the side of the tent narrowly missing me with his wild, furious punches. She crouched low and seemed about to transform, but the man thrust his sword down through her heart. I caught my breath. She slumped to the ground, dead. Seconds later, a black rock cat landed on the man’s shoulders and savaged the back of his neck. Blood sprayed into the air, filling my nostrils with a sharp, metallic tang. The man toppled over like a felled tree. The cat collapsed on its belly by the dead woman, and began yowling in torment.

Namal pushed past me and grabbed the felled man by the shoulders.

‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

The man blinked, took a ragged, soggy breath. His head was twisted up in an awkward position.

He reached toward Namal and implored him, ‘We must stop him… Bal Harar. The Wavekeepers… are the only way. Bal Harar is going to use all the Anzaii to find Kriites everywhere. You must purge them all from your midst… go into hiding.’

Namal looked from the man to me. ‘He’s mad!’

‘Who is it?’

It was too late to ask him. His eyes stared lifelessly at the sky. Namal lifted the man’s hand, revealing a small ring of diamond.

‘Must be some kind of cult,’ Namal said. He moved to the dead woman’s body, checking for a pulse. His voice quavered with emotion.

‘Poor Feera…. What a despicable way to be torn from this world. She was our only Anzaii.’

‘Actually,’ I replied, ‘there’s something else I need to tell you.’

Chapter Seven—Intruder

A
ll the Rada in Jaria became aware of Feera’s murder in a matter of minutes. Elder Namal’s Rada-kin, Josker, communicated what he had seen to every Rada-kin within range of his wave abilities and they, in turn, passed it on to their human counterparts and other Rada-kin who were further away.

Namal’s house, which was close to the village centre, was soon surrounded by people and animals. There was no need for anyone to ask Namal or me what had happened, and the horror on the faces around us spoke so much more than words. Prime Arone rode in on his Rada-kin, a chestnut stallion, followed by a group of foot soldiers and four aides.

‘Welcome back, Talon,’ he said. ‘I see it hasn’t taken long for you to get involved in some more trouble.’

The man’s voice was gruff, the expression hard, so I said nothing as he dismounted. I hadn’t had much to do with Arone in recent years—he’d approved of Bessed and Drea’s efforts to reform me, but I had never had much reason to interact with him. Namal swallowed, wiped his eyes and leaned on my shoulder.

‘Prime Arone,’ he began, ‘what we’ve seen here today, and what Talon has been through recently, abhors me. We must call a Village Council meeting at once. I fear there is some connection between these events.’

‘Gather the elders and masters,’ Arone instructed one of his aides. ‘We’ll convene in the Centre shortly.’ He crouched over the black-haired man’s corpse asking, ‘This is the killer? Isn’t this Dugan, the fletcher from Tasset?’

‘Yes,’ Namal agreed, flipping over Dugan’s wrist to look at the crystal band on his finger. ‘And this is the only clue we have of his deviant beliefs.’

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘I’ve never seen its like,’ he replied, ‘but I have heard of a new cult that gives its members a ring of crystal.’

Namal slid the ring off Dugan’s finger and held it up to the sky. The light of the day-star glinted through the rough-cut crystal circle, casting tiny speckles of light across Namal’s face.

‘You will lead the investigation,’ Prime Arone said to Namal. ‘I want to know everything about this cult and why they have killed Jaria’s only Anzaii.’

Namal glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, giving me the slightest head shake. Clearly he didn’t consider it safe for me to reveal myself in front of the crowd. Although most of them were Jarians, there were a few dozen strangers who had wandered over from the marketplace to see what was going on.

‘Prime,’ Namal said, ‘may I request Talon be given protection while we sort out what’s going on?’

Arone looked Namal carefully in the eyes, and I thought perhaps their Rada-kin conversed on their behalf, passing information so nobody else could hear. Eventually Arone ran an appraising look over my face, cocked his head and nodded as if he was surprised.

He gestured to two of the warriors who had been with him. ‘Cora, Paril, accompany Talon for the rest of the day. Stay sharp.’

‘Yes, Prime,’ Cora replied.

Arone took one last look at Feera before departing at a canter.

The rock cat howled and snarled when people came to take Feera’s body. Dugan’s was loaded onto the back of a horse-drawn wagon and trundled away.

With the departure of the prime and the two bodies, most of the crowd dispersed. Bessed and Drea appeared down the road, jogging with their Rada-kin alongside.

Drea was so relieved to see me she nearly bowled me over. Wrapping her arms around me, she patted my back, head and neck as if searching for additional injuries. Then she held my arms so my palms were facing upwards and gasped at the scarring.

‘We were so worried about you,’ she said. ‘Your poor hands.’

Bessed rebuked himself. ‘I think next time we send someone out of town for supplies they’re going to need an escort. It’s my fault you were so vulnerable… and so soon after meeting Rekala. I’m so sorry for you, Talon.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ I responded. ‘I have been gathering things alone for you for years—’

‘The Zeikas’ timing in relation to your recent advancement is alarming,’ Namal interrupted. ‘It’s almost as if they knew your talents were emerging.’

‘It did seem like that, the way they spoke of me,’ I agreed.

‘Scrying,’
Tiaro told me.
‘A Zeika ability that attaches spying demons to a person or place, which are then able to send visual information back to the scryer over a distance, limited by their skill.’

To my horror, Namal’s words confirmed what Tiaro said. ‘While you were away, Feera discovered six scrying marks around the village. Most were on the outskirts near where our lookout towers are, but one was outside your home.’

‘Mine? Does that mean that a scryer could have been looking to see what was happening there at any time?’

‘I’m afraid so. If he was close enough at the time, the Zeika responsible for casting the mark would have seen you come home with Rekala.’

‘Is it gone now?’ I asked, looking west towards my abode, just visible beyond the corner of Bessed and Drea’s place.

‘Yes,’ Namal said. ‘I’m not sure if you know this, Talon, but Feera’s Anzaii-kin was dormant, meaning she had reached the limit of her Anzaii abilities. Feera was able to abolish the marks around Jaria, but if there was a mark on you, she would not have been able to detect it.’

‘What’s the difference?’ I queried.

‘Our knowledge of Zeika sorcery is limited,’ Namal replied, ‘mainly thanks to King Aabyn’s purge of Zeika and Tanzan documents twenty-three years ago, but we do know that marking a place for scrying is simpler than marking a being. It’s not usually until a Zeika reaches Conjurer status that he can mark and scry a living being.’

‘I hadn’t been around any Zeikas long enough to be marked until recently,’ I replied. ‘I suppose High Commander Jonaal could have done it when I was their prisoner…. He said my Anzaii abilities hadn’t come out yet. Perhaps that’s why I got away so easily….’

‘You would have to have been unconscious not to notice it,’
Tiaro said.
‘The pain of a scrying mark is similar to being branded with a hot iron. It also takes time and effort on the part of the Zeika—you do not recall anything like that from what I’ve seen of your memories from that encounter.’

I passed on Tiaro’s comments to the others.

‘Wait a minute,’ Drea said. ‘Talon, are you Anzaii now?’ She looked me over and noticed Tiaro in my earlobe. ‘That’s it isn’t it—your Anzaii-kin?’

‘Shh,’ Namal cautioned her. ‘We don’t want the word to get around yet. Please tell your kin to keep it to themselves for now. We’ll talk about it at the Council meeting.’

Drea looked from me to Namal, trying to hide her grin. ‘We always knew you were destined for something important, Talon.’

‘Walk with us to the Centre,’ Bessed suggested to me.

Drea clung to my arm as we walked. Namal, Bessed and my two guards were close behind us. We crossed the road and passed around a small outbuilding of supplies that were used for shows and other entertainment in the centre. As the Centre itself came into view we could hear a small group of people. Some were holding each other and crying, others shouting at a woman in her early twenties.

‘Go on, Lythian, resume your feat.’

‘The children are upset. It will help take our minds off Feera’s death.’

‘If you insist.’

She was tall and lean with dark red hair and blue eyes, just like the woman Ivon had described to me last time I’d been here. I tried not to gawk at the appealing shape of her body, but everybody was looking at her so I figured I could get away with it.

Ten speckled eagle feathers stuck out from her collar. Her shoulders were bare except for a circle of gold on each that depicted a tiger’s head. Except for wrist guards, she wore no other metal armour.

A small male firetiger waited by her side, reddish fur on end. The woman’s right arm rippled with tension—the hard ridges of her muscles angled straight down the shaft of a drawn arrow—the black warbow seemed like part of her body.

At the far end of the field was a middle-aged man in a red tunic, black vest and dark blue pants. A few feet away from him was a table with six small metal cups on it. They were dented, and many more cups with holes littered the ground. The pair must have been interacting in front of the crowd before Feera was slain.

The woman’s arrow struck one of the cups, making it fly off the table and thud onto the dirt some distance away. The man walked over to the remaining cups and picked one up to reveal a round blue stone.

‘It was here,’ he said, raising one finger like a red flag. ‘Now, watch more closely.’

He placed it under another cup and switched them around rapidly. The small crowd was riveted. The woman frowned, colouring slightly. He stepped well clear and gestured for her to try again. She did. Her aim was impeccable, but this trickster kept her from hitting the right cup. When only one remained, he picked it up and, not one but, three blue stones fell out.

‘How could you miss them?’ he cried, with an entertainer’s pity.

A murmur of laughter followed as the woman made her way slowly toward him. Bessed, Drea and Namal waved goodbye to me and crossed the Centre to get to the village hall. My guards went with me to the trickster and the red-haired woman.

‘You cheated,’ the Lythian said with little humour, ‘or used trickery….’