The Dark Half of the Sun (The Young Ancients: Timon) (37 page)

The second chain rattled a little as it fell, cut well away from his wrist. Otherwise he risked cutting it off. That wouldn't do at all. Not before he finished everything. The next part would be harder, he realized. He couldn't sit up. Not even rolling to one side first, his legs unmoving now. Timon had to cut those lines too. Then he could die. That was his only goal, to be free before he went. A simple thing that gave him hope.

He turned the cutter off, since doing otherwise would mean dying too soon. It took a very long time for him to manage anything like a seated position. It wasn't the pain, he was past that for the moment. No, it was just the fact that he could barely move at all. By rocking to his right side and pushing with his arms as hard as he could he slipped around until he was upright. There was no way for him to reach the chains though. They were just too far away. It was clear he just couldn't do it.

Not by taking the metal links off. His legs, those were much closer. A cutter didn't even hurt at all. He smiled and got ready to make an awkward slice at the knees when the Countess came back, a sandwich in her right hand. She froze in the door.

"What?" Running at him she grabbed his right arm, which was a mistake, since the cutter blade separated her right hand from her wrist with a thought. Blood splashed on him as she screamed. Then, with a lazy wave he got her head to split in half. It silenced her instantly. The top of her head slid off at an angle, as she fell to the floor. There wasn't much time left he realized, since the Larval was running in, a weapon in his hand. He'd die free. It was all he had.

Tim made the cuts, his body not moving even as the blood started to pour out. It wouldn't take long. It was done. Timon wasn't in chains anymore. As a bonus the Larval ran right up to him, his face shocked when he realized what had happened.

"You... cut off your own legs?"

Another man spoke then, very calmly.

"Looks like it. It's hard to keep someone a prisoner if they're truly committed to leaving a place."

The voice from behind him was a surprise. He'd really thought they were all alone in the place. There was a sudden movement in the air as the Larval tried to spin, showing Tim his back. It was a clumsy move on his part, but he swung at the man's back making a single cut across his spine. It didn't take him down, or stop him from moving, since he wasn't a human, being made to take more damage than that.

It did seem to distract the man long enough for Count Lairdgren to move in and finish the Assassin, in a way that Tim couldn't see at all.

Then, blessedly, Timon Baker died.

Or should have. Instead he woke to even more pain, a silent agony as every cell of his body tried to heal at once, undoing more damage than should have been possible. He didn't scream. After everything he doubted that he could anymore, that was a thing he'd locked away so hard it just didn't come now. Instead he opened his eyes, seeing that the leg chains had been removed and that he both had toes and could wiggle them, if feebly. It took a long time to heal and several bodies came in to the space, most of them being people he didn't know at all, dressed in green outfits and carrying strange weapons as well as magical ones.

"Can you move?" This came from a hard looking woman wearing an unusual helmet, her eyes covered, showing only the lower part of her face. It made her look pretty unusual. Lights blinked on the left hand side, two amber in color and one blue.

Timon didn't bother answering, standing instead, his weight almost making him go to the ground. He had a healing amulet on, sitting around his neck. The bandages on his groin were still there.

"My gear." He mumbled it as he walked, looking around for it. True it hadn't been in the room at all as far as he knew, the whole time. He just didn't know where else to look for it. His Austran compact was there, and so was the communications device, the single name glowing at the top.

A man he didn't know looked inside the drawer of the low table they were sitting on and started pulling things out. It seemed to all be there, except his shield. That one he found at the back of the wooden thing, stuck on a large splinter. He put that on first and just activated it, wanting to be safe before anything else. Then he had to turn it off to get his clothing on.

There seemed to be fourteen people with the Count and they all moved as a single unit, making hand gestures to communicate, as well as using strange simple words. Timon wasn't up to running, but put on his Not-flyer and managed to keep up, even going up the stairs. Once outside he fought his Fast Craft free and set it up, making sure it didn't have any seats in it. They took up room and he had too many people.

The Count nodded, but moved into the pilot's position without asking, gesturing for him to take the other front one. The rest of the people sat on the floor, huddled close together. For a long time no one spoke, which was fine, since he was still healing. There was one final flare of pain from his groin, which he hoped meant that was healed and would work again. He shuddered as he remembered the flayed chunk of flesh, gushing blood. He tried to close his eyes to block it out, but the image didn't leave, only getting stronger in the dark. After a bit he let his mind go blank again.

After a bit there was a growl from the back, a woman that he thought might be the one with covered eyes.

"We should fucking kill this whole county, bunch of fucking traitors." A few others seemed to agree with her.

The man next to him just flew the craft with total concentration, ignoring what they said, his jaw clenched.

It surprised him, but Timon found himself speaking anyway.

"
No
. It was the Countess. Nora Alan. Her and one Larval, trying to draw my brother out. It didn't work, which I could have told them before they started. The people here didn't know about it. I don't think so." There was something about the servants being sent away. It was a little hazy. The promise to cut him until he was smooth was still there, but that... Not so much.

"I... how long?" It felt like weeks, maybe longer. The answer from Count Lairdgren surprised him. For one thing he'd been almost certain the man wasn't going to speak at all.

"Three days. When she didn't hear from you Duchess Keene contacted Richard and informed him he was instructed to send the army. He's actually moving it, by the way. It was just taking too long, so we came to see if you might need a hand."

Timon nodded, "thank you all then. Three days? It felt like longer."

No one asked him to recount the experience, so he didn't just not thinking at all, until the craft set down next to a grass covered hill. It was small for that, until he looked over and saw that it had a door.

"My house." The Count waited for the rest of the people to climb out, then spoke softly. "I know that this has been a very horrible experience for you. If... when you need to talk about it, I'm here to listen. No one gets to be as old as I have without some very bad things happening to them. You're welcome to stay here for as long as you need."

Timon grunted and then forced a smile.

"What's a little torture, horrible pain medicine and rape, right? At least it wasn't the Larval doing it. So much for a romantic first time though. Didn't even bring in roses or candles. Did feed me dinner first, so there's that. Poisoned. Well, drugged. Something tailored to me? I didn't use my detector, but I was told it wouldn't have worked anyway." He was starving, which the talk of food made very central to him.

"Looks like we won't need the military yet. Can I beg some food? Then I need to get back to the Capital and check in with everyone. After that I have to go to Vagus and Austra. I'll sleep before that, if I can."

He waited for the man to tell him it was alright to be weak and cry, but he didn't have tears in him anymore. No doubt he would later, but for now he had other things to do. Like fighting a war with whoever the heir to Alan was. That part was a relief, since it turned out that the woman didn't have anyone close. It would go to an extended cousin that wasn't overly friendly with her at all.

"Good. I have other things to do. Like killing Count Rodriguez." Not that he could do it right then. The one thing that being held against his will had showed him was that he was too unskilled still. "I need to learn to fight. Weapons and unarmed. Building too. Making that cutter would have been a lot more helpful if I could have done it the first day, instead of the third." The pain injection hadn't helped, but his doing it showed that it was possible. If he had to do it again at that moment, it would be finished faster.

From now on he wasn't going to be as lazy as he had been. To that end he forced his mind to go silent, which meant he didn't talk as the Count led him into his strange looking house. There was a heavy vegetable stew delivered by the woman that had worn the visor.

"I'm Brenda. Roughly your cousin, more or less." She handed him a wooden spoon to eat it with and some bread that was a little too chewy. He ate mechanically, remembering to thank her by rote after that.

"Alright, I'm off then. Palace first." It wasn't where he was going, but Lairdgren would figure that out soon enough. After all, Tim had to have information too, and the King, while not a horrible person, didn't care to give him any. Not really. Dean Hardgrove however might be a little more forthcoming.

Especially if he was wearing a truth amulet at the time and...

The man couldn't be forced, or likely bribed into talking. No, that wasn't a good plan at all. The King was in the same mold, plus heavily guarded. There was no one that would tell him anything, was there.

Except possibly Tor. Or, maybe Trice, if he could find her.

He didn't say goodbye, going outside and climbing into his vehicle, wincing when he realized he'd forgotten to take it with him. It made sense that he'd be absent minded for a while, it just couldn't be allowed.

He didn't go anywhere really, just straight up into the air, hovering, his right hand still on the control knob. It took a bit of care to work the communications device out and a little bit of thought to figure out who it was he wanted. After a few seconds he realized that it would be the second non-named sigil. The first would be one Tor used, knowing it was possible, the second, that would be for someone the King and Queen figured they'd need to talk to pretty regularly. Someone that was important to the Kingdom, but who needed to be mobile.

There were several people it could have been, but most of those had their names printed in lights above the single black line marked on the device. It was kind of telling from what he'd seen of her. She always wore black when she could.

He hit the sigil and waited. She might not answer, since his sigil wouldn't be one she knew about, unless the King told her that it was him for a reason. That was just possible. His new service was useful to spies after all.

Finally she spoke, the voice unfamiliar and younger sounding than he remembered it from years past. For a few seconds he froze, not certain it was the right person at all.

"Patricia Morgan?"

"Um, yes. Who is this?"

"Timon Baker. We need to meet." His voice sounded calm and certain, rather older than it had even a week before. It was her turn to hesitate then.

"Sorry, I'm not certain which one of you that is..."

Fair enough, there were eleven of them in all and all their names started with the same letter.

"Weasel."

"Weasel? Is he... Tor is..."

"No word, this is about something very different. Can we meet?" If not he'd have to figure out something else, but it would take more time.

After a time that was far longer than he liked, there was a sigh. "We can. I'm not in a perfect situation for it. I'm in a little town called Bartok. It's about eighty miles outside of Galasia. Kind of hard to find..."

He didn't sigh or roll his eyes. If she thought about it she'd figure out that he could find it. Former delivery agent after all.

"I'll be there in an hour. Where do you want to meet, by the central square?"

They decided on the main tavern for some reason. That would be fine. They could leave from there to talk after all.

"I'll be there directly."

It was a strange property of the healing amulets that his brother had made, that once used they both took a lot of personal energy, depending on how much was needed to be healed, and left a person feeling awake and refreshed at the same time. At the moment, as he flew through the air to the southwest, it meant that Timon felt fine.

Also like he should die.

There was nothing left inside him. He'd never realized it before, but all life needed at least a bit of... something, to make it happen. A spark of hope, a glimmer of energy to get you through to the next thing that made life seem like it had a reason. In that moment he knew that had been taken from him in that damn dungeon. Nora Alan had taken a lot more from him than the evil bitch could have known she was doing. She'd
tried
to strip him of hope, and of innocence. She intended for that to end with his life being gone, but what she managed to do was leave an empty husk that just looked like him.

He shook and had to land well away from the little town, his hand refusing to allow him to just fly in as he intended. He settled in the woods and put the Fast Craft away, the silver mirrored square seeming overdone and garish suddenly. The scent of the fresh air was cloying, like pine and dirt, sticking to the inside of his nose. It had rained not too long before, and everything was a little wet.

There was no reason why he did it, not in particular, but he carefully took down his trousers and looked at the bandages that had been left there by the Larval. That black eyed demon that had made him hurt more than was possible. It was mainly red and brown, sticking to the thin new hair that had grown there, pulling at times, reminding him of what had happened. He moved carefully, not wanting more pain, but needed the thing to be off. A sudden fear took him, wondering what ruin was left underneath it.

It took a long time, his fingers made clumsy by fear, the bandages having to be unwrapped, not having a knife. Not that he could have used one so close to himself right now. Just thinking about it made him shake harder, sobbing. No tears ran down his face at least. Why that was, Tim couldn't say. It just didn't happen.

The hair being ripped out hurt, until he made his mind go away, becoming empty again, like he had on that table. Finally he could see it, what was left of him down there. It was perfectly normal. That was both a relief and hard to believe. He kept expecting it to burst open and bleed. That got attention focused on his legs, which went weak, feeling like he couldn't hold himself up suddenly. They'd been off and now they were back on. Healed by the people in the room that had saved him.

Too late.

He'd been ruined already in that room, and couldn't just go back to being what he was now. There was no way. The only thing making it bearable at all was his empty mind and not thinking about it. Pretending it hadn't been something that happened to him. It was though and he couldn't stop it. It was in his head. A corruption.

It occurred to him then that Petra Ward had done better than this. She'd endured more and had seemed so strong afterwards, doing what she had to, instead of feeling sorry for herself. She was older than he was, but that didn't matter. It was his turn to be strong now. Somehow.

Fixing his clothing he transformed it into a green and brown silk and leather outfit, with tan boots and a small Two Bends delivery badge. Then he dug out his flying rig, the thing comfortable on his hand, resting on the back, a copper plate with a worn acid etched bird on it. The leather thong was a little tight, but he didn't care, since that meant it wouldn't slip by accident. He tapped it by habit and took off, flying toward Bartok as fast as he could that way, the ground seeming to crawl under him, thousands of feet below. It took about fifteen minutes to get there and when he landed in the mud pit they claimed to be a square, he made a bit of a stir. It was a small place, but even people there had gotten deliveries from time to time, so they knew what it meant. He walked straight to the tavern, dodging pigs and a single goat on the way.

Why they were meeting in a place like that, Tim didn't know. It was a shack made of loose and gapping boards, the cracks stuffed with mud and straw, but without the care and elegance that could have made it nice. Galasia had mud walls, but did it right, making it a thing of beauty. These people didn't even bother adding the few feet of roof to the sides that would make it a permanent structure. Inside, it smelled, mainly of alcohol and the desperate stink of broken dreams.

That last bit, he realized, while probably true, might also just be due to the fact that half the people in the place didn't wash too regularly. Finding a table he sat and waited, not knowing what Trice would be up to, or if she'd really show at all. It hadn't taken him a long time to work out who she really was in the whole scheme of things, or part of it at least, so it wouldn't shock him to find out that she might not feel free to meet with a boy that called out of the blue.

The serving woman that came was a short woman with light hair and missing a tooth in the front. She smiled at him anyway, her chest going out just a little bit, the shirt she wore didn't have shoulders on it and the top of her breasts showed. He started to cringe at the sight, then forced a smile.

Nora had done that to him, and she'd meant to, hadn't she? In her... insanity, she'd made women seem bad to him in that way. That couldn't be left to stand. If he didn't fight against that, she won, even after he killed her.

"Hello sweetie. Can I get you anything?" Her voice was polite and slightly bored sounding, for all that she was staring at him as if he might be something good to eat. It seemed predatory, but, he realized, she wasn't trying to do anything more than get an extra tip from him.

"Something to drink that isn't horrible and won't leave me too drunk to fly. Please." He worked out a silver and handed it to her, watching her eyes go wide. Probably because it was a lot to hand to a person you didn't know in a place like this.

"Yes, sir." There was a sly look to her face then, which either meant she was planning to rob him of his change or figured that he was trying to get her into bed. Timon didn't really care what she thought, he just waited. When she came back the woman tried to give him eight coppers back, a wooden pitcher of soft cider sitting next to two cups. He hadn't asked for that, but it was fine, since he really was expecting someone. She obviously got that.

"Keep the rest of it." Once that would have been him playing at being the big man, but now he just didn't care at all. The woman held the coins, which would probably be nearly what she made in a week and then tried to hand them back again. "Are you certain sure, I don't want to trouble you..."

He looked at the woman, who couldn't be more than a few years older than he was, he realized, her face plain and lightly freckled. For a second he felt horrible for her, being made to work in a place like this and nearly just dumped every remaining coin he had with him on her, telling her to run away and make a better life for herself. Then he realized it didn't matter. She had the best life that she could get for herself right now and no amount of gold and silver would really change it.

"It's fine, you keep that." He poured a half glass of the juice and waited, just in case Trice actually decided to show.

He was there for nearly two hours before she walked in, her clothing plain looking enough, like a minor merchant, using ribbons to pretend she was a fine lady, her top decorated with them in six different colors. At first he couldn't tell if they were real or not, but after a bit he could see that she had the bulge of amulets around her neck, like he did. The clothing was magical, so that meant she wasn't trying to really impress anyone, just make it seem like she was.

The tall woman, who was only about six-four, thankfully, settled across from him, her eyes on him as if trying to communicate something with him in particular.

"You have a message for me?"

That would make sense, him being a messenger, as far as his clothing went, but he didn't have anything prepared. She clearly didn't want to be recognized as herself, he didn't think, so he hesitated. The door behind them opened again, and a voice rang out.

"Patty! There you are, I thought I saw you come in here. We don't really have coin for..." The voice was piping and high pitched, slightly nasal. When Timon turned to look he noticed that the form was also small and slightly bent on the right side. A dwarf with a hunch. The face wasn't clear to him until the door behind him closed, and even then Tim wouldn't have seen him very clearly in the dim space. Not until he came over to the table, looking a little scared.

Of him.

The man took in the fine clothing of his uniform, and glanced down at his own, which wasn't horrible, but had the look of someone that had decent things, but only one or two outfits. A few food stains could be seen, even though it was clear that the fellow was clean and reasonably tidy. His nose was like a potato, true, but the hair was brushed and the skin free of dirt.

Trice winced and closed her eyes, swallowing hard. It was as if something inside her broke then, for a moment, though that really could have been his imagination. The dwarf was smaller than he was by a half head, so it wasn't his brother in disguise or anything like that.

Looking around she spoke in a low voice.

"Surely you recognize your brother?
Weasel
." There was a pause as if she expected it to all fall apart on her. Like the universe was going to fall in.

That looked to be the case for a few seconds as the little man stiffened and looked ready to run, at least until he started to try and fight to get something out of his pocket. Trice held out her right hand, trying to stop the man.

For his part Timon just shrugged.

"I took your advice Tor and went back to using my given name of Timon for professional reasons. Weasel sounds like a little kid trying to act tough. Mother wants me to send her love if I see you. Here, have a seat." He raised his hand and gestured at the server, who smiled at him, even with his strange new friends. "Another soft cider please? An extra cup for my brother too."

The small form froze, his panicked face trained on the woman instead of him, looking betrayed for some reason. Then he sat, looking so miserable that Tim felt sorry for him. That made sense. It was a crime to impersonate a noble. One that normally ended in death. If Trice said they were brothers though, there was a reason. What that was he didn't know yet. Honestly he didn't care either.

There was a low moan then.

"I'm all done, aren't I?" He shook his head slowly, making a disgusted face. "Patty, I'm
not
the Wizard Tor, not the Troll of Galasia or anything I said I was. I just found that chest of stuff on the side of the road and used it to do those things. There was that girl, and no one else would help her, so I lied and said that I was important so that I could get help for her. People heard me, not just the bandits, so I couldn't just tell the truth."

There was a long shuttering breath as the man shook his head.

"No, it was worse than that. I didn't
want
to tell the truth, because for once in my life I was someone important. Now everyone will find out... I suppose you'll hate me now too. I'm sorry Patty. I wanted to be your friend. I've... No pretty girls have ever talked to me before. I'll leave..." He got up to do that, but Trice put her hand on his arm.

"I already knew all that Gerent. This however, really
is
Timon Baker, and if he says you're his brother, I doubt that anyone will doubt you overly. Isn't that right?" She nodded helpfully, so that he'd know how to answer it seemed. It was too obvious, but he shrugged.

The little man looked confused, then scared again. Finally he shook his head.

"No, I can't do this anymore. And going around telling people that you're Ducharina Morgan... We can get in real trouble for it. I might swing for it, but I can't let you. I..." It was so plain that he was about to say he loved her that even the serving girl noticed it as she settled the new pitcher on the table. Timon gave her another silver and made himself smile at her again.

"Patty... I..."

The man didn't finish the words. It was awkward enough that Timon felt a sense of relief about that too, though Trice looked pleased that he'd gotten that close.

He shook his head and poured the fake Tor a tumbler of juice and then one for Trice. After that he looked around and rubbed at his face, which reminded him for some reason of a giant Larval assassins face hovering over his own, which got him to wince, hard. Trice noticed and her demeanor changed, looking slightly angry for a second.

"Timon, this isn't-" She started to speak, but he stood and started to leave, feeling like the whole thing was a mistake. She clearly had something going on here and he didn't want to get in the way.

Then he stopped. His weakness couldn't keep him from doing what he had to. He couldn't give in now.

"Tor... Patty and I need to talk about something. Alone. She'll be back in a bit, I'm sure. I'll tell everyone you send your love." He waved at the tall, curly haired woman and walked out, not really caring if she followed or not. Then he walked toward the woods on the edge of town. It took a while, since it was in a clearing, but when he turned around she was standing there, looking at him. Her face dark.