Talion Revenant

by Michael A. Stackpole

  I bit my lower lip and thought. Finally I shook my head. "I don't think competing as if I was only eleven would be fair."

  Lord Hansur nodded and looked at the clerk. "Very well. List him as a prospective Thirteen."

  I watched the clerk write that down and smiled. I wanted to be a Talion badly, but I wasn't going to cheat to become one.

  "You have one last question to answer, Nolan," Lord Hansur said as the clerk finished. "What division do you want to enter?"

  My heart thundered loudly in my ears and I felt fear tighten my throat. There were seven different divisions to pick from, but I ruled two of them out immediately. I couldn't be an Elite because I couldn't fly a Hawk and I knew no magick, so joining the Wizards was out of the question. My best chance would be as a Warrior or Lancer. I might be able to succeed as an Archer, and my literacy would put me a step above other candidates to become a member of the Services division. Still none of those divisions interested me.

  I licked my dry lips. "I want to be a Justice."

  The clerk contained himself for a second of stone cold silence, then burst out laughing. He rocked back on his stool, lost his balance, and toppled over onto the ground. He held his middle and continued to laugh.

  Lord Hansur snapped a word at him that instantly strangled the laughter. The Justice said one short sentence in a language I'd never heard before, but the tone of his voice could have cut like a razor. The clerk righted his stool, bowed, and fled. Lord Hansur himself slipped behind the table and wrote the word Justice on the paper. He slid it over toward me. "Make your mark."

  I took the quill and signed my name as neatly and evenly as I could. The lines wobbled a little because of my hand's nervous tremor, but other than that the signature was one to be proud of. I set the quill down.

  Lord Hansur pressed his right palm against the parchment. When he lifted his hand I saw the death's-head tattoo on his palm, and an exact image of it etched on the bottom of the document. My mouth dropped open, and my teeth clicked when I snapped it shut again.

  Lord Hansur politely ignored my shock. "This parchment is for you. Erlan will take you to Devon ra Yastan's tent. Devon will take care of you. He will give you food and a place to sleep tonight. Tomorrow morning someone will come to bring you to the Trial grounds."

  The parchment fluttered like a captive bird in my trembling hands. I bowed to Lord Hansur and the Elite, then followed Erlan out of the tent.

  "Well, Nolan, you sure went out of your way to impress Lord Hansur." Erlan smiled broadly.

  I frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "The age stuff and the orphan story." Erlan laughed and shook his head.

  I grabbed the Elite novice by the shoulder and spun him around to face me. "That was all true. My family is dead, all of them."

  His smile faded, then he jerked his shoulder from my grasp and squinted at me. "If that's so, how did you get here?"

  I shrugged. "I walked."

  My reply surprised him. "From Sinjaria? Alone?"

  I nodded solemnly. "It took five months. I was sick in Tashar."

  Erlan frowned. "You couldn't make it all that way by yourself."

  I shrugged again. "You saw me on the mountains. Did you see anyone there with me?"

  "No, no I didn't." Erlan's smile returned. "Sorry. It's just that during Festival it seems like everyone who wants to become a Talion has a reason or a story they try to use to impress the lord of the division they want to enter."

  I stopped and fixed him with a terrified stare. "Do you mean Lord Hansur is one of the Justice lords?"

  Erlan caught my disbelief and pounced on it like a cat on a mouse. "One of? He's the only Justice lord. If you succeed he'll be the man you report to." I must have looked sick or desperate because he added, "And the other man was Isas ra Amasia, Lord of the Elites. And both of them were already impressed with your ability to dodge a stooping Hawk!"

  I said nothing during the rest of our walk to Devon's pavilion. A swarthy, plump Yastani, Devon greeted me with a booming laugh that made me, as nervous as I was, feel at home. He immediately turned me over to his servants, who fed me, heated water for a bath, and prepared me a rug, blanket, and pillow so I could sleep. The food was great, and reminded me of the meals I shared with one farm family I'd stayed with in Yastan. My travel caught up with me in the bath and, once I'd dried myself, I pulled the blanket over me and dropped off to sleep.

  My exhaustion helped me. I slept well and didn't have the nightmare that had chased me halfway across the continent.

  Devon woke me before dawn. He shook my shoulder gently. I sat up and rubbed the sleepsand from my eyes. Though I was still slightly sore and stiff, the night's rest had helped my back immeasurably.

  "Nolan, get dressed. We've got some stew for you to eat before they come for you."

  I pulled my clothes on quickly and sat at the table in the center of his pavillion. Devon sat opposite me and ate an apple. Before I ate anything myself, I smiled at him. "I want to thank you very much for letting me stay here. I have some money and I'll pay you for the food and space."

  Devon shook his head, waved me to my food, and laughed. "No, don't think of it, lad. You are here because Hansur sent you. Besides, having Nolan ra Sinjaria as my guest has been an honor. Very few heroes try to become Talions."

  A spoonful of steaming stew stopped midway between the bowl and my mouth. "Hero? I'm afraid I don't understand."

  Devon laughed again. "No, I don't expect you do. Stories about you traveled swiftly last night. The clerk was from Hamis and your show of patriotism was much appreciated by the Rimahasti and Janian lords here. Furthermore it was learned and circulated that you'd traveled all by yourself almost four hundred leagues to get here."

  I snorted. "More like three hundred."

  Devon shrugged. "Split the difference, truth be told, but it's still quite a journey for a young man like you. And to top it all off, after all that traveling, you still have the strength and speed to avoid a stooping Hawk!" Devon's face assumed an expression of exaggerated awe. He held it until I burst out laughing, then his façade cracked and he chuckled.

  I tried to look heroic, and willfully failed. "If I don't become a Talion, with that sort of story being told about me, I ought to be able to join any of the royal houses as a general or something, shouldn't I?"

  "I'd settle for nothing less than Warlord, were I in your shoes." Devon calmed himself. "If you don't make it—though I have every confidence in you—come to me first."

  I finished shoveling stew into my mouth as a manservant appeared and spoke with Devon.

  "Wipe your mouth, Nolan. Lord Hansur has sent someone for you."

  I'd hoped Erlan would be my escort, but he was not. He'd been replaced by a novice Justice. He was my height and had hair so blond it was almost white. His eyes were a deep, rich blue. He walked a bit more arrogantly than Erlan had and led me back to the large black pavilion.

  Everything had been cleared from the interior and a high dais had been raised in the center of the room. Seven banners, one for each Talion division, stood around the tent's outer perimeter, and clerks sat behind tables next to each of them. I didn't see the Hamisian clerk from the day before.

  My guide led me to a spot near the death's-head banner.

  "Wait here until Lord Hansur is finished speaking. Then go to the banner and I will meet you there."

  I nodded and he left.

  The tent filled up with people over the next quarter hour. Talion novices led people into the tent and steered them toward the banner of the division the person wanted to join. Everyone looked tired and yawns passed through the crowd in waves, but I could feel the excitement we all shared. The air almost crackled with nervous energy.

  The general undercurrent of muttering faded when Lord Hansur walked onto the dais. He stood tall and a black cloak swathed his slender body in shadow. He threw it back over his left shoulder and held his hand up. The black leather jerkin he wore gleamed a dull red in the blossomi
ng dawn light, and the cold, foreboding skull ensign on his left breast blazed brightly like the rising sun. Mirthlessly it grinned and stared at all of us fools who dared presume we could become Talions.

  "These are your final instructions before you undergo your trial. Please understand that you may withdraw from the trial up to the point when the trial begins. If you fail your trial you may never again attempt to join the Talions." Lord Hansur's voice touched all of us deep inside and started a panicked flutter in my chest. Part of me wanted to run and flee along the escape path he offered, but I forcefully resisted that urge. I swallowed and stood my ground while others, from strong mercenaries to hunched clerks, bowed and left the tent.

  Lord Hansur waited for those recruits to leave before he continued. "There are seven banners, one for each of the Talion divisions. When I give you leave you will present the sheet you were given to the Talion at the appropriate station. You will be told when your trial will be held. You are expected to arrive here a quarter of an hour before your trial and then you will be taken to the place where your trial will begin."

  The Justice lord stopped again to give everyone a chance to look around and find the banner they wanted. Some people edged toward the banners. The rest of us waited.

  The Justice nodded easily as if calming a child's fear of darkness. "All of you are nervous. This is understandable, so I will explain some of what you may face today or tomorrow. You will be tested for skills appropriate to the branch you want to enter. The trials, though difficult, seldom result in injury and only very rarely in the death of a recruit. The trial's purpose is merely to determine if you know enough and can work well enough to become a Talion. You can only do your best—and failure, in that case, is no disgrace at all."

  My stomach tightened with his last words, and sweat broke out on my upper lip. For me there was no way to accept failure. A soldier who was refused by the Warriors could always find work, and a scribe would always locate a fat merchant who could neither read nor write. And even with Devon's offer to me if I was rejected, I couldn't help but feel that I'd be just a child with no direction or purpose in life. Of course I didn't think of it in those terms at that time. What I saw before me, in that tent as Lord Hansur's words kindled a torch of self-doubt, was a yawning void that threatened to swallow me the way it had my family. For me failure was worse than death, because I'd live and remember I had failed.

  Lord Hansur's last words brought me back and hinted at what I'd have to do to succeed. "I will not wish you good luck, because a Talion does not depend upon luck. Have courage and trust yourself." He bowed to us, and we returned the gesture, then flew to our banners.

  I reached the Justice banner before anyone else. The white skull on it was as big as my whole chest. I averted my gaze from its eyeless sockets and handed my parchment to the Services clerk seated at the desk. He looked at it, consulted a list, and wrote some numbers across the bottom. "Nolan ra Ha... Sinjaria?"

  I nodded.

  "Someone will come for you presently." He handed me back the parchment and smiled. "No need, from what I hear, for him to wish you luck or courage."

  I blushed and looked down at my feet. "I'll take either if I can get them."

  The clerk shook his head and turned to watch the rest of the tent. "You are a step up on all the others here. You're too young to have the desperation of the older ones." He pointed to some bent and white-haired people lined up to become Services Talions. "They're afraid of dying. They work hard all their lives and have nothing for when they can't work. For them the Talions are their last hope, and they live for the chance to be accepted by us. Those that fail will probably die before they ever return home again."

  "And the others, the soldiers," he continued, "you would think they were smart enough to know they don't belong here. Some have been trained by Talions stationed in other countries and they think they are as good as the Lancer or Warrior who tried to teach them enough so they won't die the first time they face an enemy. If they were that good they would already have rank or would lead a band of mercenaries. They're here because their pride tells them they have the skills to be a Talion." He laughed mirthlessly. "Pride lies."

  My snowy-maned guide from earlier returned for the second half of the clerk's discourse about the recruits. He snapped a harsh comment at the man. Though the words were foreign to me, the tone conveyed utter contempt for the clerk's opinion. The clerk whirled around with his fists knotted; then the knots withered and he replied in apologetic tones. My guide made another comment and the clerk left.

  The novice Justice held the skull banner aside and motioned me through it. I walked ahead for a step or two then waited for him to catch up. "Who will deal with the others who want to be Justices?"

  He shook his head and then, with his left hand, brushed back the white bangs draped over his eye. "There are no others, Nolan ra Sinjaria. You are the only Justice recruit."

  He led me in silence to a smaller black tent with a white skull on the flap. The Justice held the flap for me and I entered. It took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. As the room lightened I saw a campaign chair, a chest, and some clothing laid out on the chest. Another Justice, a woman, sat in the chair. She waved her right hand, giving me a fleeting glimpse of the skull on its palm, and dismissed my guide.

  I gave her my parchment. She read it quickly, then looked up at me. "These are your instructions. Remove your clothing and put on this loincloth and these sandals. They are the only clothing you will have in the trial. Once you have changed you will leave this tent and follow the course laid out and blazed with blue pennants. You must overcome the various obstacles in your path and collect these red strips of cloth. Gather as many as you can. You will be stopped at the end of your test and an accounting will be demanded. Do you understand these instructions?"

  I looked at the strip of cloth she held and nodded. It was as long as my forearm and two fingers wide. Unless it was buried or otherwise hidden, I decided I could find something that bright shade of red fairly easily.

  She stood, stepped through the tent flap, and left me alone in the tent. I quickly peeled my clothes off and tied the white loincloth on. It hung down to my knees in both the front and back. The soft, brown leather sandals laced all the way up to my knees. I tied them on tightly and wriggled my toes. Despite the chilly air that early in the morning, I felt comfortable. I mumbled a quick prayer to Shudath and walked through the rear flap of the tent.

  Sunlight flooded into my eyes and a trumpet blast rang in my ears. I jumped from surprise and began running down the trail that stretched across a golden meadow ahead of me. It led down a small hill and then up to the woods that covered the northern side of the Tal Valley. I passed through the downhill quickly, still running with the nervous burst of energy the trumpet blast triggered, but settled into a more comfortable pace for the uphill. If this was to be any sort of a real test I knew I'd be running for a long time.

  I realized that something about the trumpet call sounded familiar. Once my initial panic wore off, I sifted my memories and tried to recall where I'd heard that sequence of notes before. I concentrated and, almost instantly, it came to me. In Tashar, when I finally healed up enough to leave, the innkeeper, Orjan, played those very same notes as I walked away from his inn. He'd entertained me with war stories during my recovery and I knew he'd been a trumpeteer in the Tashari army. He told me how they communicated words and orders through different tunes, and those notes made up my name.

  I sped up. They expected me ahead. That prospect both scared me and inspired me. I didn't know what I'd face in the trial, but I resolved to do more than my best.

  Dry, dusty grassland gave way to the misty, dark tunnels of a woodland trail. Rust-colored needles from the evergreens paved the path and light green ferns lined it. The forest smelled of pine and rich, loamy earth. Sunlight tried to pierce the thick canopy of leaves, and succeeded in a few scattered places, but still failed to warm the forest's silent heart.
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  I ran along the path and saw nothing until a thin coating of sweat covered my body and pasted my black locks to my forehead. A wall of logs lay across and blocked my path. They had been roughly stripped of bark but were not finished and bristled with splinters. The wall stood almost as tall as me and the pair of logs lying off to the right of it suggested the height varied with that of the recruit.

  I ran faster and reached for the top of the wall. My hands grabbed the top log and I vaulted myself up and over with my left hip just barely brushing the top. I was about to release and hit the ground running when I looked down.

  A ten-foot-deep pit yawned open below me, ready to swallow me whole.

  My left hand tightened and clawed into the top log. My left shoulder ground and popped as my body swung down and slammed into the wall. The collision jarred my teeth, exploded sparks in front of my eyes, and crunched the ribs on my left side. I hung there for a second, my body twisting like a corpse on a gibbet, and something stabbed into my left arm.

  I reached back and up with my right hand and got a good enough handhold to take the pressure off my left arm. Pain shot up and down the injured arm. A long sliver of wood, as thick as an arrow, stabbed into the flesh of my upper left arm, just below the armpit, and a thin stream of blood trickled along and down my flank. I clutched the wound to my chest, felt below with my feet for any sort of a foothold, and found one with my right foot. I wedged my foot in the wall, then kicked out and jumped beyond the pit's right lip.

  Once on solid ground I dropped to my knees and took a better look at my left arm. The wood had not penetrated very deep, so I gritted my teeth against the anticipated sting and pulled the splinter free. I then tore a strip from my loincloth and bound my arm up. I moved my arm around in a circle slowly, testing it easily, and discovered, although it ached and probably could not take more of the same punishment, I'd not suffered a serious injury.