by M. R. Forbes
"May you find mercy in the arms of Heden," she said, loud enough for the crowd to hear.
It was part of the act, part of the ritual, though it was rare enough for the Overlord to oversee hangings personally. Most prisoners would smack the chalice from the presiding official's hand. Most prisoners would curse and try to escape, even though they had a rope around their neck, and wind up with a knife in their gut while they were hung.
Talon couldn't risk the knife wound killing him, even if the hanging didn't. He reached out slowly and took the offered cup, lifting it to his lips and drinking deeply. When he finished, he handed it back to the Overlord, grinning wildly at her.
"To Heden with the lot of you," he shouted. "Overlords, soldiers, peasants. Every one of you disgusts me. I hope one day this entire Empire burns to dust." He grabbed at his crotch for effect, his eyes shifting over to the Overlord. He could see she was nervous about his chances of survival. He could tell she was worried about him.
Wallace grabbed his hands again, binding them quickly with rope and backing away. There was no other fanfare or pomp, just a thunk as Trock shifted the lever that opened the floor beneath him. Talon watched the dais drop away beneath his feet, felt himself fall a few inches, and then began to choke.
He closed his eyes, feeling the rope digging into his neck, feeling his body begin to burn from his inability to breathe. He turned his thoughts to Alyssa, wondering if he would ever see her again. He fought to hold her face in his mind. Dark hair, green eyes, freckles that fell along her cheeks. A soft laugh, a loud yell, a passionate sigh. If he didn't come back, if this was his final end, he wanted his last thought to be of her.
The crowd remained silent while he swung there. At least, it seemed that way to Talon. If they were screaming, cheering, crying... he didn't notice. He felt the wind across his bare skin, the stinging of the rope around his neck, and the calm that had taken him when he had been stabbed by Clau.
The calm of a man who had lived a thousand years, died half a dozen times, and knew that his end was impermanent.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Spyne
General Spyne leaned over the dead hulk of the juggernaut, the Historians resting behind him. They hadn't asked any other questions of him. They hadn't said another word. The moment he gave them two hours to rest, they had made the best cushioning they could from the small packs they carried and laid their heads down on them. Their life on the road had taught them how to go from alert to asleep and back in seconds.
He examined the creature, running his hand along the ircidium armor, feeling the smoothness of the metal, the impossible flexion in the joints. It had been the height of their abilities to craft a thing that was both living and non-living. That could fight like a man, but without fear or hunger, or any of the desires that plagued the emotional. Anger.
He remembered now, the first time he had seen one brought to life. Tella was a wizard. She had been the one to discover that by sharding and shaping the crystals, they could create resonances and impulses that would allow the creatures to store a limited number of words and instructions.
He pulled a knife from his hip and began scraping at the neck, one of the weakest joints of the thing, working to get the head separated from the body. He wanted to see it, the core that made the juggernauts into more than just humanoid masses of alloy and magic. It was his connection to his wife.
It was his reminder of his sacrifice.
For a promise broken. For what, Talon? Why?
He dug the knife edge through the thinner metal, sawing and scraping until he had pierced it. Then he reached in with his fingers, pulling and prying with his great strength, tearing the rest of the seam apart.
He lifted the head away, falling backwards and resting it in his lap. He turned it so that it was facing up, empty stone eyes endlessly looking at him. He pushed away the tubes and rods, pulling out the bits that drove the creature until he found what he was looking for and gently, carefully removed that as well.
He held it up in front of his eyes. It was glass, the size of his fist and perfectly round, with a metal bar fused to the bottom and a tube trailing from it. Liquid poured from the tube onto his legs, draining slowly from the glass ball. Water. It carried the resonance throughout the length of the creature, sending messages to other crystals which amplified the signal, which in turn told the legs to lift, or the fingers to close.
It was genius.
A small bit of ebocite rested there, anchored to a thin rod to hold it in place, along with a number of smooth, round stones that had once floated free inside, held in place by the resonances. Even if he hadn't broken it in its removal, his eyes would never have been able to follow the vibrations in the water or the spinning of the stones. The invisible nature of the entire thing was what made it so amazing, and his wife had been the one to discover it.
He didn't know how long he stared at it. Even with the water gone, the contents kept his attention, bringing him back to the time before the war, when his heart had been filled with love. He had never been a man of magic. He had come to Genesia as a husband and a father. He had come as a caretaker and a lover.
What had he become?
He closed his eyes, fighting against the tears, feeling the pin of anger expanding in his chest. He didn't open his eyes when he leaned back and then hurled the core as far as he could, into the distant trees.
It was gone. All gone. He wouldn't let the pain and anger be for nothing. The promise was all there was. All that was left.
He opened his eyes.
Worm was sitting only a few feet away, his unblinking eyes staring at the General. Spyne stared back at him. There was something in those eyes. How long had he been there? What had he seen?
"Worm," Spyne said. "Do you have something to report?"
The painted man lifted his arm and pointed towards the slope, in the direction they were to travel. Spyne followed his arm, up and through the branches of the bare trees that surrounded them. Darkness had taken the valley, and in it he could make out a number of torches and lanterns.
Who could that be?
Spyne got to his feet, the juggernaut's head rolling from his damp lap as he did. He ignored it, retrieving his knife and taking a few steps towards the slope. The torches were only halfway down, a few hours away.
"Historians," Spyne said. He heard the rustling behind him, his men coming awake and getting to their feet. "Gather your packs. We're heading out."
There was no extraneous sound. No grumbles of complaint, no questioning that he had given them two hours, and only let them rest for one. They picked up their packs and formed up behind him. If they were tired, they didn't let it show.
"Are those torches, General?" Peyn asked. "The Liar?"
"Not the Liar," Spyne replied. "Whoever that is, they're coming down the slope. Let us go and meet them."
"Torches, my Lord?" Ash asked.
"No. We'll stay hidden. Mind your step. If any of you alert them to our presence, you'll be dead before you can make the same mistake again."
They knew he was serious. He knew they wouldn't make that kind of error. They headed out in silence, creeping through the trees and out to the rise. There wasn't much cover on the slope, nowhere to hide except in the pitch of the night. They were fortunate the skies were cloudy, keeping the light of the sky from providing too much illumination. Enough to walk by.
Another hour passed before they were close enough to hear the noises of the approaching party carrying down to them. Frightened whispers and nervous murmurs, along with the clink of armor and the rustle of cloth. Spyne knew what soldiers sounded like. Someone had sent them this way, sent them to Genesia. It had to be Thornn. Only he would send soldiers to do the work of the Nine. No, not do the work. He had sent them to try to intercept Talon, to slow him and give his brothers more time to arrive.
It was a cold, calculated maneuver. There was only one outcome for the three dozen soldiers that were descending ahead of them.
&nb
sp; Spyne reached into his pocket and took a small stone in his hand. It gave off a constant, faint light, enough for him to raise it up behind him and signal to his men that they would hold at their position. All motion around him stopped, and everything fell to silence.
They waited patiently, still and soundless while the soldiers approached. In time, the torches made them visible: men clearly frightened by the field of bones they had already climbed past, nervous at the darkness and the smell of burning that lingered from the tower's destruction. Spyne also found the Mediators in the light of the flames. Why had Thornn sent Mediators? To counter the whore, he guessed.
"Mediator," Spyne called out, once they were close enough. The entire retinue ground to a halt, the mumbles and motion replaced with the sound of steel sliding from scabbards.
"Who is there?" one of them, a female, replied. Spyne imagined she would have liked to send a light to him, to see his face. She wouldn't use her Curse in front of the soldiers unless it were necessary.
"General Spyne," he said, putting the glowing stone up so it lit his face for her. "What are your orders?"
The soldiers calmed at the sight of the General, their swords returning to their hips. All of the tension fell away from them, even as they shifted to stand at tight attention in front of him.
The Mediator came forward, passing through the soldiers. She was holding a rolled up parchment in her hand. "From General Thornn. He bade us travel into the mountains, in search of the Liar. Did you find him, my Lord?"
"No. He has already left this place. He went out this way. You didn't see him?"
"No, my Lord."
"Are you careless, or just stupid?"
The Mediator's face paled. She was a pretty one, young and slender, with wide hips and a pronounced chest resting beneath her robes. "General?"
"He went right past you," he replied, his voice calm while the anger churned inside him. "How did he escape your attention?"
"P... Perhaps he circled around us?"
"You didn't assign outriders?"
"Of... of course we did, my Lord. They saw nothing."
Spyne's deep eyes shifted across the row. They were a young assembly. Inexperienced. The type that Thornn wouldn't mind losing. "No. They wouldn't. It is understandable that he slipped past you. The Liar has many tricks at his disposal."
"My apologies, General," the Mediator said.
Spyne looked at her again. His eyes travelled the length of her body, pausing on her breasts and hips once more. He couldn't remember what Tella looked like. Was she as voluptuous?
"My Lord?" the Mediator said. Her nerves were failing under his gaze, and she was looking for some way, any way, to shift his attention. "If I may... what is this place?"
Spyne closed his eyes for a moment, shaking the shape of her from his thoughts. It wouldn't help. Nothing ever did. Besides, he would be angry if he treated a Mediator in such a way.
Even one that had to die.
The General turned the stone in his hand again, closing his palm and opening it, sending the secret signal to his Historians. Perhaps Thornn had never expected the soldiers would reach Genesia. Perhaps he had guessed they wouldn't dare venture in. More likely, he wasn't concerned with either outcome. He knew what Spyne would do. What he had to do. It was bad enough he would need to replace his Historians when all of this was over.
No, not Worm. He'll never speak of what he's seen.
"General?" the Mediator said again.
Spyne caught her eyes in his. He watched her face change, from general fear to abject terror, as she read his intentions in his dark gaze. She raised her hands to begin summoning her Curse, a yellow ring on her finger starting to glow.
One swift movement found Spyne's dagger buried in her chest, the magic dying at the same time she fell to the ground. The soldiers around her reacted with the expected fear and panic, struggling to make space to fight, draw their weapons, and prepare themselves.
The Historians swept into them like an ocean storm, their own ircidium blades coming free of scabbards just in time to make quick, killing strokes. Seven soldiers fell in the surprise of the ambush.
Spyne gained his own weapon and lashed out at the closest two soldiers. His blade shattered their inferior weapons behind the force of his strength, passing through the steel and into the chain, through the chain and into their torsos. Deep gashes left them screaming and bleeding out, joining their comrades on the ground, becoming just another corpse in a sea of ancient corpses.
Worm dashed from target to target, his knife barely visible as he ducked and swerved, dancing through the soldiers' defenses and finding the weakest parts of their armor. Blood sprayed from deep wounds, landing on the painted man's face. His twisted grin proved he was from Heden itself. Even Spyne didn't find such enjoyment in bloodshed.
It was over in minutes, the entire retinue of soldiers felled by an opponent that they outnumbered six to one. General Spyne approached the Mediator he had felled, kneeling next to her to retrieve his knife and clean his sword blade. He stared at her dead face, and then returned his attention to her body. He could feel his blood pulsing through him, his heart pounding. He stood and sheathed his weapons.
"There may be more up on the ridge," Peyn said.
"No survivors," Spyne replied. "Worm, go up ahead. If you find any soldiers, kill them."
Worm responded by taking the slope at a run.
"I'm glad he's on our side," Ollie said.
Spyne didn't hear him. His attention was back on the dead Mediator.
Why can't I remember your face?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Talon
The first thing he heard were birds chirping.
The first thing he felt was a burning in his neck.
"Fehri," Talon said, the word coming out cracked and weak.
"I'm here, General," the Captain replied. "I've been here all night."
"We're outside the city?"
"Everything has gone according to plan."
Talon opened his eyes. They burned from the dirt that had been poured onto him, the grave he had been buried in and then dug up from. His vision was blurry, but he could see the man sitting on a rock nearby, a water skin in hand. He stood and brought it over.
"Thank you," Talon said, taking the water. He poured it out onto his face, letting it sting his eyes and wash away the grime. Then he took a long drink from it.
"It is a thing of wonder," Fehri said. "You were dead for six hours. Your heart stopped, no breathing. Yet here you are. Certainly, you have been blessed by Amman."
"There is nothing wonderful or blessed about it." Talon pulled himself to his feet and felt his neck.
"The ropes had gone in pretty deep. It's all but healed," Fehri said.
"It still burns."
"I expect that it will be gone within the hour, at the speed you recover."
Talon closed his eyes again, taking a moment to feel the renewed beating of his organic heart. "Where are we?"
"Near the river."
"Good. We'll follow it west to where I left Eryn. I can only hope she's still alive."
"Amman protect her. As you command." Fehri turned and went back to the stone he had been sitting on. "I have some things for you." He reached around the rock and lifted a small pack. "I stashed them away in the cart before we brought your body out."
Talon took the pack from him and opened it. Inside was a new dark blue shirt, undergarments, a pair of black pants, soft leather boots, and a dark green cloak with a hood large enough to shadow any size head. A hunting knife strapped to a thin belt rounded out the supplies.
"I couldn't sneak a sword out," Fehri said.
"If we need weapons, we'll have worse problems than a knife instead of a sword." He noticed that the soldier was no longer wearing his blacks. "Where is your uniform?"
"Burned. The area is still thick with soldiers, and you're supposed to be dead. Well, the murderer who killed my guards is supposed to be dead. A Captain seen with t
he Liar? No. For now, I'm only Fehri."
Talon didn't miss that he referred to the dead guards as 'his'. "I'm sorry about the guards. I didn't realize that Oz could be so unpredictable, or I would have been more careful."
"It is not your fault. Nor is it the creature's. It has no soul to understand right from wrong. The fault lies in its creation."
"Then the fault is still mine. I helped create the juggernauts."
Fehri tilted his head. "There is so much to you I don't understand."
"There is so much to me I don't understand, either."
The memories were so fragmented, so broken. When he closed his eyes, he could feel the heat of the furnaces, hear the clanging of metal. He'd never had magic. What he did have was a sharp mind and a way with raw materials.
"General?" Fehri asked.
He hadn't realized he was slipping back into those memories. "I'm well. Give me one moment, and then we'll go." He quickly stripped off the dirty linens, pulling the clothes from the pack and slipping them on. As he removed the cloak, he discovered that there was another item tucked within it.
He lifted a small box from the cloth and ran his hand along the top. It was a simple thing, nothing more than lacquered pine with a set of ircidium hinges at its back and a latch on the front.
"I didn't put that in there," Fehri said, sounding confused at the presence of the box.
"Caela must have." He shook his head, not quite believing it. He pressed on the latch, and the box clicked open. He lifted the lid, checking the contents. Two vials of reddish brown liquid and an odd contraption with a thin bit of ircidium at the tip. "I can't believe she did this."
"Did what, General?"
It was the cure. Her cure. Her blood, returned from the refinery, cleaned of the Curse. She had given it to him, to give to Eryn. To save her life. It was a cure the Overlord might need herself before she was able to get more.
"Gave more than I asked for," he replied.
"The Overlord is kinder than most," Fehri said. "She understood my calling and made me the youngest Captain in his army."