Even though he’d been expecting it, Taleb experienced a flutter of surprise when the tip of Nathon’s blade suddenly bloomed red.
The unseen target uttered no sound, nor did he suddenly appear. Instead, a dagger materialized seemingly from nothing and hurtled forward. Nathon saw it coming and managed to twist slightly, but the blade still took him in the thigh and sank in deeply.
“Go!” he commanded, grimacing slightly as he made a wild gesture at the floor.
Taleb saw the footprints appearing in the flour as the mage jumped from the ledge and made for the tower stairs, and he bolted after him, pulling his own weapon.
The flour ran out at the steps, but Taleb no longer needed it to follow the mage’s trail. Not only was the invisible man making an enormous racket as he blundered downward, but large splashes of blood were making clear his every move. Nathon’s blind thrust must have inflicted some serious damage.
Four steps from the bottom, Taleb let loose with a flying tackle. He felt himself hit the solid form of the mage just before they both tumbled into the heavy stone door, pushing it further ajar and landing them with a thunderous crash in the corridor beyond.
“Are you crazy?” a disembodied voice bellowed furiously from the floor next to him.
Ignoring his hurts, Taleb scrambled to get a grip on the man, feeling himself catch hold of an ankle just before a sharp pain exploded across his right cheek. He was rather certain the mage had kicked him.
The ankle pulled free of his grasp and another blow—this one delivered by a fist, from the feel of it—quickly followed the first. His head was buzzing as he quickly pushed himself to his feet, his eyes now trying to focus upon the floor.
This corridor, as well as almost all the others within the castle, was also blanketed in the fine white powder, and he could see the mage’s footprints rapidly forming along it. Even more noticeable was the blood, continuing to gush forth from the wound Nathon had delivered. Taleb leapt after the red trail, pausing only briefly to take up his fallen sword from the floor.
It soon became clear the mage had spent a considerable amount of time within the castle these past days, for he was navigating his way along the hallways and staircases with one obvious destination in mind—the doors leading outside. Taleb suspected that if the man made it that far, he might lose him, despite the blood trail. There was just too much land; an invisible foe’s greatest ally. Taleb further figured they would instead come upon the mage’s body in a day or so, for to judge by the amount he was bleeding, he wasn’t going to survive without a Healer.
“I’m not here for your precious Oslunds!” the disembodied voice hollered back to him now as they hurtled along a second-floor passageway, with Taleb, so far as he could tell, only a few paces behind his target. “This is all a misunderstanding!” the voice went on, now with more than a note of desperation.
Taleb instantly figured these words for lies, but his curiosity got the better of him. “What misunderstanding?” he threw back, even while reaching out a hand and just feeling the cloth of the mage’s clothes faintly brush his fingertips.
The mage came to the end of the passageway and noisily slid about a corner. “I just needed a place to hide out for a time,” his ragged voice came back, approaching the final staircase that would see him to the ground floor. “I never intended any harm here.”
Taleb thought quickly on this as he raced down the stairs after him. Actually, this claim wasn’t completely unbelievable. If the mage harbored any aims to commit violence here, he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so. In fact, he’d done no violence at all until his very life had been threatened. On the other hand, he could still be a spy.
“Turn yourself in to me now and I won’t kill you,” Taleb shouted as they came to the bottom of the stairs and turned for the entrance doors. “Otherwise, that wound will see the end of you, even if I don’t.”
There came no reply to this, only the sounds of ragged breathing and pounding steps. Taleb honestly didn’t know how the mage was keeping up this pace with so severe an injury; his blood was spilling all over the corridor, making for a very slippery trail.
The entrance doors just ahead were now opening. Knowing this would likely be his last chance to take the man alive and discover the true story behind his presence here, Taleb put on a burst of speed, made his best guess as to where his prey was actually standing, and threw the full weight of himself forward.
He heard the grunt, as well as felt the body crush between himself and the door. He quickly had his arm locked about the other man’s head in a tight and unwavering grip. “Close, mage,” he said.
“Don’t count me out just yet,” his captive replied breathlessly but smartly, as Taleb then felt an elbow slam into his sternum. Instantly all the air rushed from his lungs, and while he tried to keep his grip, he felt the mage pulling away. He staggered after him, fighting for air, through the doors and out onto the lawns. He then began seeing a faint flickering before him, and realized instantly what was happening. The mage’s power was nearly drained, his body beginning to shift in and out of visibility; he also looked to be on his last legs physically, his steps haphazard and wild.
Taleb was still trying frantically to breathe, attempting to run, when the mage blinked back into sight a final time, fully formed, visible, and evidently forced into staying that way. The blood-covered man pitched to the ground and lay there, unmoving and face-down.
Pulling in quick, shallow breaths, Taleb slowed and approached cautiously. In all likelihood, the mage was finished, but since he’d already proven more than once his talent for sneakiness, Taleb decided to play it safe and lead with his sword. He began circling the collapsed man slowly.
“If you answer my questions, I’ll fetch our healer,” he rasped. “If not, I’ll let you die right here.”
A faint groan was his only answer, and the blood now pooling beneath the mage was growing wider by the moment, soaking into the grass and staining it red.
“Talk or die,” Taleb said, pausing with his sword-point near to the mage’s head.
“Back away from him, slave, or you’ll be the one moving on to meet your Patron this night,” a voice then slid out from the darkness.
Startled, Taleb looked up quickly, his eyes scanning the area. It was still not quite dawn, the grounds shrouded in darkness. Even so, he could just barely discern the shape of a man in the shadows ahead, about twenty paces distant and standing next to tall lemon tree. There also appeared to be a large shape behind him—a horse, by its form.
“Show yourself,” Taleb said, keeping his sword leveled at the mage’s head.
The man began moving forward, emerging through the darkness to reveal himself. Taleb first took note of his outstretched arm, which was carrying a locked and loaded crossbow and aimed directly at him. His next observation was of the man’s skin—a brown color that not only marked him as a native of Ceja, but gave instant clarity as to who was now standing before him. There were few souls in Dhanen’Mar who did not know of the Cejan thief who’d come to head this country’s own Thieves network after being exiled from his own; unquestionably, the man before him now was Flynn Fajen, commander of all Dhan’Marian Thieves.
“Thieving?” Taleb exploded incredulously. “This concerns nothing more than simple thieving?”
Flynn Fajen halted only paces from him, his blue eyes remaining fixed upon Taleb’s. “I assure you, there is no simplicity here, and I cannot tell you if it involves any actual thieving. But trust that you are not the only one looking forward to getting to the truth of this matter.” He then sent the briefest of glances down to the mage, his look making it more than clear that whatever their connection, Flynn Fajen was not at all pleased by the present circumstances.
Taleb frowned, confused. He then took a step back, and gestured to the mage with his sword. “He will not speak for me. Perhaps you will have better luck.”
Fajen’s eyes never wavered. “I’m afraid you don’t underst
and,” he said, his crossbow still leveled and set to shoot. “Now, back off so that I can collect my man and be on my way.”
“Not a chance,” Taleb told him. “You know I can’t possibly let you take him. Although even if I did, you’d never make it off the grounds.” Which in turn only made him wonder just how the Thieves’ commander had gotten onto them in the first place.
“I will say this one final time,” Fajen came back, glaring at him. “Back away now.”
It was then Taleb caught a ripple of sudden movement coming up from behind the Cejan in the darkness, a large shadowy figure he immediately identified as the man’s horse. But it was not a horse. Its large wings, unfurled and flapping nervously, were beating rhythmically at the air.
Taleb actually gave himself a moment to stare at the pegasus, but this distraction lasted only a moment, his thoughts quickly flying back into order and at least giving answer to the question of how Fajen had gotten into the vineyard—and how he would escape it with the mage, if Taleb did not stop him.
The two men continued to eye one another in silence. Although not known for committing senseless murders, Taleb felt quite certain Fajen was prepared to carry out his threat if he did not comply with his order in the next few moments. But he couldn’t let him take the mage.
Deciding quickly upon his only course of action, he hurtled forward his sword—not at Fajen, but rather at his crossbow. The sword struck it squarely and both weapons tumbled to the ground. Taleb then lunged, taking both himself and Fajen to the ground.
Immediately, Taleb moved get the man into a hold that would break his arm if he did not instantly go still. Fajen, however, clearly anticipated his intentions and writhed, sending a fist into the side of Taleb’s head that had him seeing an explosion of stars. Both men scrambled to get back to their feet.
Blinking frantically to regain his vision, Taleb swung and caught Fajen on the cheek, sending him reeling back several steps. Recovering quickly, Fajen retaliated with a hit to the ribs that produced an audible crack. Taleb clamped his teeth together to withhold a gasp, willing himself to ignore the pain as he aimed a kick meant to shatter Fajen’s knee. The Cejan moved desperately to avoid the blow, still catching some of its force and again staggering backward.
In the brief moment of pause that followed, Taleb’s mind raced furiously. He had always kept to a very specific philosophy in life, a philosophy which stated that the only way to truly understand another man was to fight him—whether with fists, swords, or any other weapon, it was how they handled themselves throughout these situations that revealed their inner natures. And with that said, Taleb had already come to a few conclusions in regard to Flynn Fajen.
Although his reputation boasted proclivities for sneakiness and finesse rather than violence, it was more than evident that Fajen had seen his fair share of physical confrontation. While his style was no different than that of a common street-brawler, his speed, as well as his ability to flawlessly misdirect his actions, were the elements that made him a truly dangerous opponent. Twice more did Taleb then receive punches to the head, taken in by Fajen’s cunning feints, and after the second he swung blindly, his vision again lost to points of light.
He felt his fist connect with Fajen’s nose and heard the crack as it shattered. Knowing he was likely to lose the upper hand just as rapidly as he’d gained it, he quickly sent a follow-up strike by way of his left hand that threw the other man several feet through the air before he landed on his back with a thud.
Taleb lunged blearily to get on top of him before he could rise, lowering himself onto Fajen’s chest and sending another punch into his face. Fajen took the hit and then straight-armed him in return, his fist striking just below the throat. Instantly Taleb felt his ability to breathe vanish.
Gasping, and knowing this agony would last for at least a couple of minutes, he struggled to stay atop Fajen, but the other man flung him off, kicking him in the chest for good measure. Taleb hit the grass, feeling his hand brush against something, and he fought to bring his dimming sight into focus. It took him a moment, but he was at last able to recognize his sword, lying only inches from his hand.
He grasped the handle and spun, still on his knees in the grass, to confront Fajen. The thief was trying to rise, his entire face swelling and bloody.
“Halt,” Taleb managed weakly, still unable to pull in a full lungful of air.
Fajen was panting as he finally managed to drag himself to his feet. He straightened painfully and stood before Taleb’s sword, simply looking at him. Taleb somehow managed to push himself upward, raising his weapon so that its tip rested upon Fajen’s chest.
“Surrender,” he rasped.
The Thieves’ commander began to smile.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
Taleb felt a sudden pressure at his head, just above his ear, and he froze. Moving only his eyes, he could just make out the crossbow now pointed at the side of his head.
“Drop the sword,” the mage coughed out.
Taleb snarled.
“Drop it!” the mage commanded.
Taleb did so, his blood boiling with rage. Silently, he watched as the mage began backing away from him, keeping the crossbow aloft and aimed at his head.
“Stay where you are,” the mage warned. How he was even on his feet and moving seemed a miracle granted by his Patrons. Taleb could now see, for the first time, where Nathon’s stab had landed, a deep bore into the mage’s stomach. There was no question he was experiencing an exquisite amount of pain, and would need a Healer if he was to live. This was also Taleb’s first opportunity to actually see what the invader looked like—a man of about his own age and height, but leaner, with yellow hair and pain-filled blue eyes. His look was not in the least bit familiar.
Taleb raised his gaze to stare directly into the mage’s eyes as he and Fajen continued to back away toward the pegasus.
“I know what you look like, now,” he said.
“And once I finish with him, maybe I’ll let you have him,” Flynn Fajen’s voice came back in response as he dragged himself up and onto the magnificent winged beast next to him.
Taleb watched in silence, his fury so strong he was nearly trembling, as Fajen literally dragged the mage onto the beast before him, and then kicked his heels. The pegasus began trotting away, out toward the fields, and then its wings began to beat. Rapidly picking up speed, it leapt into the air.
Taleb stared after it. His mind seemed almost to blank out then, even as his eyes kept focused on the quickly diminishing sight of the escaping Thieves.
“What in all the Chasms of Fire is that?”
He turned slowly, incapable of any quicker movement, to see Nathon hobbling across the grasses toward him. After a quick glance, he saw that while Nathon had apparently limped all the way down from the north tower, at least he hadn’t been foolish enough to remove the dagger. It remained stuck in his left thigh, up near his hip.
“Pegasus,” Taleb answered him tonelessly.
Nathon came to a painful halt next to him, his eyes turned upward to watch the creature’s soaring disappearance. “Pegasus?” he repeated dumbly. “Here? Why?” He then stopped to give Taleb a closer scrutiny. “Did the mage do all of that?” he asked with a frown, taking in his variety of wounds.
“No. Flynn Fajen did this. He came on the pegasus; evidently the mage was one of his.”
Nathon’s frown only deepened at that, but then he said, “I suppose this explains why one of the crows is missing. The nine-bird.”
Taleb gave a weary nod of understanding. “The mage must have sent it off to request rescue. Although we still have no idea why he even came here to begin with.”
“Perhaps not,” Nathon replied, his eyes still trained on the sky, “but now we know where to find them.”
“We can’t enter their canyon without bearing Thieves’ medallions.”
“No. But we can enter Aralexia, and that’s where the
y’ll be the final week of summer.”
Taleb began nodding. All knew it was the Thieves who oversaw the gambling done upon the event of the King’s Challenge, and he’d be willing to wager that Fajen, at least, would be there. The mage’s presence was questionable, especially since his own commander had expressed a desire to see him dead for the situation here at the vineyard, but either way the King’s Challenge games would give himself and Nathon another chance to get to the truth of this mystery. As well as further protect Oliveah, as her troupe was also slated to be in Aralexia that week.
“Maybe we should enter the Challenge, while we’re there,” Taleb suggested lightly, trying not to move. Even breathing hurt. “The winner takes five hundred gold, you know.”
“Let’s discuss that once we’ve been healed,” Nathon replied with a grimace, raising his whistle to his lips.
The blasts would call the guards, who would then be dispatched to release the Oslunds and fetch the resident healer, a man who’d been born to Harvest but who’d chosen Healing, and one who could mend almost all wounds taken here upon the vineyard. Taleb had full confidence Nathon would suffer no permanent damage in his leg so long as he was seen to fairly soon, and he knew his own wounds would heal with or without the healer’s help—although with would certainly be preferable, as he suspected he’d be a walking bruise in a matter of hours. While he could claim to have given as good as he’d received, Fajen’s cunning had surprised him. He would not be so unprepared next time.
He was dreading the report he and Nathon would now have to give Lord Ean. How would they ever explain that they’d gotten no answers, and let the infiltrator escape them? Certainly it wouldn’t help that Nathon had been stabbed and Taleb himself likely looked as though he’d gone several rounds with a chimera. It was with the deepest of shame that they would be forced to relay this.
As it turned out, however, Lord Ean, as well as the rest of his family, evidenced only relief at finding both he and Nathon alive, although their wounds were regarded with some alarm. Oliveah was particularly distressed at seeing the both of them, having no care at all for the mage’s escape, and fussing about until they were both settled within the healer’s small infirmary and being seen to. She left at the healer’s insistence, but only after promising to return just as soon as he would allow her.
The healer’s name was Master Zac, a wizened man of sixty who looked a hundred, but one who knew his craft well. He began with Nathon, first extracting knife, and then cleaning the wound before applying herbs and healing energy before bandaging it tightly. Nathon was then given an elixir to help him rest, a brew that soon caused his eyes to glaze.
Taleb had a cracked rib in addition to about a dozen serious bruises, several of them on his face. Master Zac’s greatest concern was possible head trauma, and he insisted Taleb not sleep for at least six hours, on the chance he would not reawaken. Taleb took the advice seriously and aimed to keep both his eyes and mind alert.
Nathon, by this time, was feeling the heavy influence of the elixir. He stared about the small room from his cot, his eyes glassy. His wits, however, didn’t appear to be experiencing the same dulling effects.
“How long until I’m fully healed?” he put to Master Zac, his words thick even as his body shifted restlessly.
The healer looked back, exasperated. “That will depend entirely upon how much you allow yourself to rest. Now, lay still. If you follow all my directions you should be back on your feet with no ill effects in about a week. If you do not,” he went on sternly, “you’ll earn yourself a permanent limp and be laid up here well into next season.”
“A week,” Nathon repeated, nodding slightly. “And Taleb?”
“Taleb will be fine in a couple of days,” Master Zac said, shuffling to a long counter at the far end of the room and beginning to crush up some herbs with his mortar and pestle.
Nathon watched him go, and then swung his sluggish gaze over to Taleb in the next cot.
“Sounds like we’ll both be fit to attend the King’s Challenge,” he slurred.
Taleb looked back at him. “One way or another, we’ll get our answers in Aralexia,” he agreed.
Chapter 21
Auguries of Dawn Page 21