Talon (The Astor Chronicles Book 1) (36 page)

‘Talon,’ she said suddenly, ‘you never did tell me how you got your name.’

I flinched, pulling my hand away. The image of a winged shadow stung my tired mind.

‘It’s easier to pronounce than my real name,’ I replied.

She gazed at me intently. ‘But that’s not all. There’s something about a bird, isn’t there?’

I sighed. It was hard to keep anything from Sarlice when I was so closely linked with Kestric. ‘Yes. People started calling me “Talon” after I got this scar.’ I showed her my wrist. ‘Do you remember me telling you and Li… Denliyan about it in Sarm?’

‘Yes, but what is your real name?’

‘Theon.’

‘Tay-on,’ she repeated, and I clarified the spelling.

‘You have a tremendous destiny before you, Theon. Don’t let the past keep you from it.’

‘I won’t.’

‘The Lightmaker will require more than you think you can give.’

‘He will?’

‘But not more than you can.’

Sarlice and I left all the scouting, hunting and night-watching to Kestric during the seven days it took to reach Ubu. We were both exhausted from the fight with the demon dogs. Sarlice’s injuries sapped her strength so fast I had to hold her on the saddle most of the time. Kestric assured us we weren’t being followed within a day’s walking distance, but at times it seemed there were eyes all around us.

Fleetfoot’s restlessness didn’t help either. With the extra burden of carrying two people he became fractious and tense. When it was clear he needed a rest, Kestric carried us or the gear, sometimes both. He forsook his own needs in favour of ensuring our safety. The lithe firetiger burned his reserves with abandon, leaving him the thinnest I had seen him.

Sarlice’s mount was still on the road with Lira and the Zeikas. Rekala had followed them most of the way back to Telby City before they realised she was there. The Zeikas did not attack her, but they shouted at her and boasted about taking their ‘prize’ back to Reltland to be in the harem of Bal Harar himself. They rode hard through the night and met up with a battalion of two dozen Zeikas outside Telby City.

As I had done many times since the split I wondered if Lira really was in trouble. Perhaps I had it all wrong and the clues I thought I recognised were just coincidences. Maybe I had imagined the voice of the princess—Lightmaker knew I was nearly out of my mind at the time having been trapped in rabbit form for so long. Rekala and Tiaro didn’t see why I went over everything in my mind again and again. To them, it was clear Lira had been deceiving us from the start.

Rekala stayed on the Zeikas’ trail down through the eastern sheep fields. From what she overheard it seemed they were headed for Ravra where they could sneak through to the coast unnoticed and hop on a ship out to Reltland. That would take many weeks and would be very risky for such a small group. Ravrans had little sympathy for Zeikas and it was said that their armies totalled up to a hundred thousand warriors.

My heart ached with anger and self-loathing. While I’d been enjoying the attention of the young princess, the Zeikas had been hatching their own plans. What hope had Jaria if Sarlice and I didn’t manage to find them some allies? And if I was destined to be their Wave Master then the longer I took to get this quest over with and return, the greater their peril.

We rode into the outskirts of Ubu mid-morning on the seventh day since leaving the cave. We were crossing an immense stone bridge when Rekala suddenly broke into my thoughts.
‘Lira and the Zeikas know you aren’t taking the bait. A group of them have headed off to Telby City with Lira. She is free of her bonds now and seems to be in command.’

‘Betrayer!’
I wave-shouted, all my doubts banished.
‘It doesn’t make any sense, though. If King Flale had wanted me he could have clapped me in irons the day Sarlice and I met with him.’

‘His daughter, the Princess Denliyan, was not there that day,’
Rekala said slowly, realisation dawning on her. She was getting used to human intrigues.
‘Do you remember the guards saying so? We didn’t know what to think of it at the time, but perhaps the princess is plotting to overthrow her own father….’

Before she could state the unimaginable yet inescapable conclusion—that my seed was going to be Denliyan’s ticket to supreme rule—I demanded angrily,
‘What are the other Zeikas doing?’

‘Coming your way,’
she replied.
‘I managed to release Duria during the night. She and I will overtake the Zeikas tonight and rejoin you in seven or eight days time.’

‘Very well, Rada-kin, but just make sure you stop to eat something. Your hunger is like a living fire.’

‘I will.’

‘Keep safe.’

‘Lightmaker guide you.’

Fleetfoot seemed relieved when the town of Ubu came into view. His swishing tail and fidgeting skin became calm. Sarlice leaned heavily against my chest. I stroked her forehead and cheeks to awaken her. She climbed down weakly from Kestric’s back as we arrived at the stables of a large, well-kept tavern. An A-frame signboard sat alongside the pathway to the main entrance with the words ‘Ubu Adventurer’s Inn’.

The pathway into town was cobbled with brown stones that I presumed had been dug from the surrounding countryside centuries ago. Countless trees stood tall in clay pots along the streets. Shops and buildings were made of wood and stone. Curling metal awnings formed intricate patterns and sparkled in the morning light.

We rested against a yard-rail until a young stableboy came out to take Fleetfoot.

‘Thanks boy,’ I said. ‘We need a healer. Do you think you can fetch one for us?’

He stared at our blood-stained clothing and travel-weary appearance with wide eyes. ‘It looks more like you need the bath-house.’

From our right, a booming voice scolded the boy. ‘That’s no way to talk to our patrons, Kalemp.’

‘Yessir.’ He scurried away with Fleetfoot.

‘I’m Malochar, the owner of this tavern,’ the man said taking my proffered hand and shaking it.

He eyed the prowling firetiger behind us with genuine respect. ‘You two look like you’ve seen some trouble recently.’

‘Aye,’ I replied. ‘Can you arrange for a healer and a tailor to visit us today?’

Malochar glanced around carefully. ‘Aye, of course. Do come in.’

I helped Sarlice hobble into the inn and Malochar carried our dusty packs to one of his spare rooms. Once inside I helped Sarlice to lie on the bed and dug the ivory tusk out of my pack.

‘If I give it to you, will you take care of all our supplies for a week?’ I asked.

Malochar fingered the ivory and sighed. ‘It won’t leave much of a profit for my time.’

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘If we tether our horse on grass during the day he won’t need grain….’

He clapped me on the back. ‘Naw… I won’t do that to the poor bugger. He looks like he needs a bit of good tucker in ’im—so do all of you for that matter. I’ll even feed that ravenous beast of yours. Which one of you is the Rada?’

‘We both are, sir,’ I replied. ‘My Rada-kin is a week behind us. But I cannot ask for your charity….’

‘It’s not charity, my boy,’ Malochar guffawed. ‘Consider it a favour in return for reciting some tales from your adventure.’

I smiled uncomfortably, knowing there were certain things I just couldn’t share. There were some stories, however, that I would be glad to tell. Bessed’s Rada-kin, Uola, had instructed me to make Jaria’s plight known to other believers. What better way than by turning it into a ballad to be recited in the taverns?

‘I may need a day or two to recover from our ordeal and prepare,’ I said.

‘Very well,’ he replied.

Around midday a healer arrived from the local apothecary.

The bent old man shuffled into our room, took one look at Sarlice’s sutured wound and declared, ‘There’s nothing more I can do for her.’

I followed him out, all but grabbing him by the shoulders. ‘Trees, man, do you have to be so brash? Are you saying there’s no hope?’

The healer turned his beady eyes upon me. ‘Is that your handiwork in there?’

I ran my fingers through my hair and couldn’t meet his eye. ‘I did my best, sir, merely copying what I’d seen real healers do in Jaria—’

‘Then I’d say you’re a fine learner—Sir…?’

‘Talon,’ I replied.

He put both hands on my shoulders, squeezing the muscles as if testing me. ‘Yes, Sir Talon, now if you have a mind to become a healer you might drop by the apothecary some time—’

‘Is she going to be well?’

‘The wound looks good enough. Your suture is a little rough, but it will do. Pull the stitches out carefully in another week or sooner if you’re sure the wound will hold.’

I celebrated inside. ‘Can I give her something for the pain?’

‘Parn, an opium tincture,’ he replied, ‘for three silvers a bottle.’

‘That’s outrageous.’

‘That’s medicine.’

‘Very well, sir. Furnish us with two bottles for five silvers and six bronze. Malochar is looking after our expenses.’

I returned to Sarlice’s side, knelt down and squeezed her hand.

‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘The wound’s rotted, hasn’t it?’

‘I don’t know if you’ll make it,’ I said with a deadpan expression. ‘Any last requests?’

‘How can you make jokes at a time like this?’ she demanded.

‘Because,’ I replied, unable to hide my joy, ‘the wounds are healing well. You’re going to be hale in no time!’

‘Thank the Lightmaker,’ Sarlice said, shoving me over with her good arm.

I landed on my behind, laughing with relief.
Sarlice is going to be fine
.

‘You’re a man with many talents, Talon,’ said my guide, ‘but comedy isn’t one of them.’

Over the following week, Malochar generously provided us with everything we needed. I took an instant liking to Ubu, a town with Kriite foundations. The patrons in the common room were glad to hear of my adventures with the Zeikas. They had an appetite for information about Jaria and the Rada-kin. Even without Malochar’s supplies I would have eaten well each night.

As a result of sharing the tale of Jaria’s recent battle with the Zeikas word spread around town that we had generous trade agreements on offer to any who would send warriors to serve there. A guild of merchants and mercenaries who had banded together three years ago took us up on our offer. They pledged two dozen warriors for six months in return for goods and an exclusive right to trade Jaria’s beef in Ubu.

The papers were signed in the presence of an officer from the Ubu guard and I contacted Uola in Jaria to inform him of our success. I was pleasantly surprised to find I could now reach that far in the waves without Rekala or Kestric to help me.

‘How do you and the others fare?’
Uola asked when we were done with the trade negotiation.

‘We are plagued by Zeikas,’
I replied.
‘A traveller we had with us since the desert turned out to be in league with them.’

‘That’s terrible,’
the ram exclaimed. I sensed that he and Bessed were conversing, although I could not hear my foster father through the waves.

‘It gets worse,’
I added.
‘I am now certain of the identity of the traveller. Her name is not Lira and she is not the sole-surviving heir of the Demaeda family. She is actually the Princess Denliyan of Telby.’

There was silence on the waves for a minute as Uola and Bessed digested the information.

‘We’ve heard the princess is heavily involved in the political scene in Telby,’
Uola replied, his wave filled with trepidation.
‘What did she want with you and Sarlice?’

I hesitated before answering, holding back the knowledge in my mind that would shame me.

‘It’s vital that Bessed knows what’s going on,’
Rekala counselled me privately.

‘Aye,’
I sent with a sigh.

‘Do you recall my father’s letter?’
I asked, inferring that Uola pass the question on to Bessed.

‘We have a copy of it here somewhere,’
the ram said.
‘What has it to do with this?’

‘On it, there was a genealogy of some kind,’
I explained.
‘My mother’s line, back through single sets of ancestors. Each one had at least one name underlined.’

‘Namal studied it for a time,’
Uola said,
‘but because your mother wasn’t Jarian, we didn’t have much to compare it to.’

‘Well there has to be something to it,’
I replied, building up the courage to reveal my terrible secret.
‘Lira and I were alone in the forest one day and she drugged me and stole seed from me.’

‘Trees!’

‘There’s more,’
I said, cutting off the stream of negative thoughts that came from him.
‘When Sarlice and I were in Telby Palace, we saw Lir—Denliyan’s husband, the Prince Joram, and he looked a little bit like me.’

‘She’s married,’
Uola stated, his disgust apparent.
‘What need has she of another man’s seed?’

‘What if the princess and prince could not conceive?’
I responded.
‘With no heir of her own, Denliyan’s place on the throne would be insecure if her father were to pass away. Perhaps she went to Bal Harar for help—’

‘What’s that got to do with the genealogy then?’

‘Perhaps he saw a way to combine two goals in a single scheme.’

‘What scheme?’

‘They tried to capture me near Tez,’
I rambled, thinking it through even more now that I was sharing my jumbled thoughts with others.
‘And why me? Princess Denliyan wanted an heir to the throne who would at least pass as Prince Joram’s child. He and I look alike—who knows—with Bal Harar involved we might even be related. And Bal Harar himself wants me in Reltland, that much is clear. The Zeikas who caught me even before I became Anzaii knew what I looked like, knew about my scar….’