Lothar frowned at him. "Say it in the common dialect; Nolan cannot understand us." Lothar added an edge to his voice and the clerk hesitated.
"Finally, Lothar, you appear." The clerk sniffed and checked something off on his slate. "The others have had their choices. You'll have to room with this one, this Nolan." The clerk's grin was meant to be cruel, as if pairing Lothar with me was a heinous punishment for his tardiness.
Lothar stiffened, then took one step forward. He towered over the clerk, and he cowed a man easily thirty years his senior. "It clearly did not occur to you that I might have planned this. If Nolan failed I would have a room to myself. With his success I am now roomed with an interesting addition to our company."
The clerk recoiled, then narrowed his eyes and spat something back at Lothar in Tal. Lothar answered quickly and sharply. I caught "Hansur" in Lothar's riposte, and whatever else he said combined with that name to batter the clerk. He pointed to a doorway and left. Lothar stalked down the hallway, and I followed in docile silence.
Our boxy room was fifteen feet wide and ten feet deep. The window looked out onto the grassy field we'd crossed coming into the building. A bed sat against each of the side walls, along with a big clothes chest and a wardrobe for hanging cloaks and storing boots. An oak table sat beneath the window, with chairs on three sides of it, and a fourth chair beside the door.
Lothar threw himself onto the bed in the far corner, with the head against the window wall, leaving me the bed in the opposite corner of the room. "The clerks will bring up more clothes for you, and put them away later. Cloaks and ceremonial clothing get hung in the wardrobe. Boots and sandals go in the bottom of it. Anything else gets stored in the chest. They'll also bring your stuff from Devon's tent. Anything you don't want will be given to children in Taltown."
I nodded and sat on my bed. When I started unlacing my sandals Lothar got up, left the room, and closed the door behind him. I changed my clothing quickly. Everything fit well, especially the boots, but had some room to let me grow before I'd need new clothes. The clothes were black and made of a material lighter than wool but just as durable. I knew enough to know it was not silk, and I found it very comfortable. I tucked my pants into the tops of my boots and studied myself in the mirror behind our door.
I'd certainly changed in my journey. Leaner and bonier, I looked something like the scarecrow I'd stolen my last tunic from. I knew, from what Grandmother had said of Father, and the way Hal and Malcolm had filled out when they looked as gaunt as I did, I'd be a big man. My face had the same, strong features as my father's, but my green eyes, from my mother's side of the family, burned away the weary look I always remembered my father having.
Not just a vastly different Nolan stared out at me from the glass, but a totally new Nolan stood there. I smiled at the white death's-head ensign on my left breast. In the Talion uniform I felt taller, stronger, and no longer a child. The smile dulled a bit with my realization that becoming a Talion novice was but the first step in my plan, and the knowledge that I'd have to work hard to stay a Talion to accomplish my ultimate goal.
Before I could lose myself in a morass of painful memories and heaven-blown plans, the door opened. I stepped back and Lothar smiled. "You look good. Definitely grist for the mill."
"He must have insulted Allen after he got his clothes." Lothar stepped aside as a girl walked into the room. She was smaller than either of us but could not be described as delicate or fragile. She moved like a cat and took in everything in the room with a single glance. Then she looked me over.
She narrowed her brown eyes so they were reduced to dark spots edged with white. Her hair was very black, and because of its length, lost definition in some of the darker places. She was pretty, but the predatory look on her face chilled me just a little bit. Finally she pursed her lips, nodded quickly, and turned to Lothar. "I believe he made the journey."
Any comment I was about to make died as Lothar crossed to his bed and another novice walked into the room. He was huge, taller even than Lord Hansur, and had the bulk to match his height. And if that was not enough to shock me—the boy who thought himself a world traveler—the novice was not even human. His gray-green skin showed off the white fangs protruding a half-inch or more over his lower lip. His hair was black and as long as mine, but failed to hide the slightly pointed tips of his ears.
All deep and rumbling, his voice boomed like thunder. "Of course he made the journey, Marana. The tale's too fantastic to be a lie." He growled the last word and smiled. He flashed a set of teeth I'd only imagined seeing in a nightmare.
My jaw dropped open and the only reason I didn't run from the room was because the giant demon blocked the door. Lothar caught the abject terror in my slackened face and started laughing. The girl joined Lothar's laughter and, after a puzzled look flitted across his face, the demon joined in.
His warm, hearty laughter brought me back to reality. I cannot fear anyone who can laugh that openly. I recovered myself and started laughing with the others.
Lothar, holding his stomach, rolled up into a sitting position on the bed and nodded toward the girl. "Nolan, this is Marana. Marana, this is Nolan ra Sinjaria." We bowed at each other and Lothar continued the introductions. "Nolan ra Sinjaria, I present Jevin the Fealareen."
The word Fealareen exploded like a dropped clay jug and explained the depth of my fear at seeing Jevin for the first time. Like any child in the Sea States I knew that across the Runt Sea lay the Borrowed Lands and the Fealareen Haunts. Fierce mountain giants who lived in and on the mountains, the Fealareen tended flocks of demonsheep and did a host of other things the storytellers only hinted at darkly. Every twenty-five years the leader of the humans in the Borrowed Lands and the Fealareen leader would meet in a contest—a ritual contest created, maintained, and adjudged by Tal-ions—to see who would control the Borrowed Lands until the next contest. The stories of what the Fealareen did to the human inhabitants of the Borrowed Lands when the humans lost the contest were quite horrible, and seeing a Fealareen firsthand lent more credence to those tales than I'd ever given them before.
Still, unless the Fealareen controlled the Borrowed Lands, none of their kind could leave the mountains. As near as I knew, Queen Briana still reigned over the Borrowed Lands, and easily had another ten years before a Ritual would be held. According to all tradition and legends, Jevin could not be standing before me.
Jevin's smile remained on his face and he bowed toward me. I returned the bow, making mine just a bit deeper than his; then I extended my hand to him. He hesitated and looked into my eyes to search them for tear or mockery. His black irises produced a penetrating gaze but he found no fear in me. We were the same—both far away from where we should have been. We had no need for fear or animosity.
He grasped my hand firmly and I returned the grip. In that moment we forged a lifelong bond between us. I broke the grip and smiled at everyone. For the first time in months I felt like I might actually have found another home.
"Now what is this about me insulting Allen? All I said was 'Should I try these on?' "
The three of them fairly exploded with laughter. Marana shook her head. "You couldn't have said that!"
Jevin stared out at me from between his fingers. "No, you couldn't have said that. You are still living."
That started all of them cackling again. I frowned and spoke over their chuckles. "I don't understand."
Jevin gained control of himself first. It took a great effort and was the first evidence I had of the great self-restraint governing the Fealareen. "Allen has been fitting people for clothing for thirty or more years. He can tell, at a glance, what will fit you. He takes great pride in his skill, and even suggesting he might be wrong is a grave insult indeed."
"Oh." I grinned sheepishly. "I will have to apologize to him."
Lothar agreed. "Best do it soon or your clothing will be a random selection of things Allen has collected over the years."
A sharp peal rang through th
e corridor outside the room. I turned and saw the others stand at attention and straighten their clothing. I dropped back into a line with them and stared stern-faced at the doorway.
Lord Hansur appeared in the doorway. He spoke in the Tal dialect to the others. They bowed and filed past him into the hallway. Then he looked at me. "May I come in?"
"Yes, my lord."
He walked in and closed the door. He surveyed the room and frowned a bit at the rumpled condition of Lothar's bed. "I see Lothar has gotten you some clothing and secured you as his roommate."
I nodded. His voice was not flat and emotionless, nor was it commanding, yet I felt compelled to answer or acknowledge everything he said. It was my first experience with the Call.
"Very well, Nolan, come with me. You are to see the Master." He opened the door and the bell rang again. Lord Hansur waved me out into the corridor first then shut the door behind us. Novice Justices stood frozen at attention up and down the corridor while we passed to the stairway. Once we started down the stairs the bell rang twice and the normal sounds of living returned to the hallway.
"I believe, Nolan, you are aware I am the Lord of Justices." Lord Hansur paused and returned the bows of two novice Warriors who had stopped on the stairs to let us pass. "That means I control all the Justices in Talion service. Justices answer to me or the Master. Justices are special, and you have been accepted as one of them. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
Lord Hansur studied my face a moment before continuing. "A Justice is trained and able to do everything any other Talion can do, with the exception of High Magicks and some strictly clerical duties. A Justice must fly a Hawk as well as an Elite, be more at home in a saddle than a Lancer and a better fighter than an Archer or Warrior. Mastering all these skills is difficult even when a Justice is trained from birth for his job. For you the task will be almost impossible."
We reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the corridor that led past the storeroom. We headed into the Star.
"Your training will not be easy. In addition to exercising with Lothar and the other Thirteens, you will be trained with some of the younger Talions. You will learn the Tal dialect and become fluent in it. You will study Talion history. You will make up the twelve years of training you have missed."
Lord Hansur's words should have terrified me, and probably would have if he had given me any room to doubt. His sentences were statements of fact. He gave me no choice but to succeed. I felt as if, because I had passed my trial by however a thin thread of chance, I was capable of all he said. That gave me confidence and made me determined not to fail Lord Hansur.
The corridors we wandered through looked all the same. Yellow ovals glowed high upon the walls with a magical luminescence to light our path. The doors were all made of iron-bound oak planking and had no marks on them. I had no way of telling where we were, or how far we'd come. I soon learned an enchantment on the Star made finding certain rooms impossible unless the traveler had a legitimate need or was desired at his destination.
Lord Hansur glided through the maze without making a sound. Thrown back over his left shoulder, his black cloak did not hide the death's-head ensign on his left breast, but I could not imagine that anyone who saw him could mistake him for another. His bearing and aura of power were unique. Even blind and half dead I would know him.
Lord Hansur stopped before a bronze set of double doors. They looked heavy, but he merely brushed the center with his left hand and the doors opened on well-oiled hinges. Lord Hansur bowed toward the center of the room, then stood aside and let me see something so grand that nothing I had ever seen before could even begin to compare with it.
A huge cavern of a room, the Master's Chamber was dark, unnaturally so, and the lamps hanging down from the ceiling were dimmed, as if they hung further away than they truly did hang. A thick strip of carpeting ran from the doorway to the throne. It was elaborately woven with a gold dragon pattern yet, in the half light, the red, greens, and golds of the carpet could barely be seen. Other works of art, like tapestries and statuary of various sizes, mediums, and subjects, stood arranged around the room to create an impressive display, but the darkness shrouded their intended beauty.
The Master's throne dominated the room. It stood on a black basalt dais six feet tall and looked as if it had been sculpted from a single block of ivory. I knew, instantly, that was impossible, because no source of ivory in the world could produce a block that large. It was carved in the shape of an animal's skull with its mouth open; two enormous fangs as thick as my thighs jutted down from the tapered, fleshless snout and propped the throne's roof up. A dark purple jewel glimmered between the vacant eye sockets, set deep into the skull as if it had grown there. The carving was otherwise unadorned and might have been dismissed as an incomplete effort because of its stark simplicity and clean lines, but its sheer size and the menacing authenticity of the teeth were impressive enough to rank the throne as a masterwork.
Then, after I'd completed my appraisal of the throne, I realized the truth, and it took my breath away. No artisan had labored to create the throne—nor could human hands have created something that exquisite. The throne, in fact, was a dragon's skull!
Lord Hansur strode into the room. Thick ropes of incense smoke broke and swirled around him. The air was heavy with it and I recognized the acrid scent in an instant. I'd smelled it once before—I was very young at the time—when a magician performed a ritual to save my grandfather's life. I associated the scent with death, and a shiver rippled down my spine.
Suddenly my awareness of the room faded. I looked up and focused beyond the trappings of the Master's throne. I saw, seated on a simple wooden chair beneath the jewel, the man who was the Master of all Talions.
From the stories told me as a child, and from my brief association with Talianna and the Talions, I expected the Master to be a mountain of a man. I was prepared for a hero, a man bigger than Jevin and quite capable of killing the creature in whose skull he now sat. Yet even as those thoughts entered my mind I caught myself, because the converse was also true. I would have easily been satisfied with a small man. Someone tiny, quick, and deadly like a mongoose would have been perfect to guide the Talions. Either of those images would have made overwhelming sense.
The man who sat in the throne was neither a giant nor a compact assassin. He was just a man. He sat in the wooden chair within the dragon's jaws as if he was uneasy with the image they projected, or as if he thought, just possibly, the jaws might close and swallow him up. His face was one I'd seen a thousand times and places before. It was completely ordinary and quite unmemorable. He could have been anyone, or no one.
I bowed to the Master. He stood, returned my bow, and seated himself again. He stood shorter than me, and his hair appeared dark brown except where the lamplight burned red highlights into it. His eyes were dark and he was slender, but the blockiness of his build and his height did not emphasize that fact. On the street, out of a Talion uniform, he would be unremarkable and impossible to remember. It dawned on me then that almost as valuable as being known as a Talion might be the time when a Talion is not believed to be anything but an ordinary man.
"Come forward, Nolan." The Master's voice, warm and friendly, sounded like that of an uncle or a friend's father. I recognized it instantly but I could not bring myself to ask the question I needed to have answered. I entered the room and the doors swung shut behind me.
"I understand that you have no living kin. Is this true?"
"Yes, Master."
"You know the families of all Talions are paid for their kin's services. Had you come to us as a child your parents would be paid for the work you will do for us. In your case there is no family to give the money to." The Master leaned forward in his throne and clasped his hands together. "Under normal circumstances, with an orphan, we would send the money to your sovereign, but I have heard you do not acknowledge King Tirrell of Hamis as your ruler. Is there someone else you would prefer t
o have the money sent to?"
I nodded carefully to conceal the anger and hurt burning through me at Tirrell's mention. "Sir, there is an innkeeper in Tashar, a man named Orjan. He took me in when I was sick. I would like the money to go to him. His inn, the Red Fox, is on the Cold River near Patria."
The Master smiled gently. "As you wish. Aside from clearing that matter up the only other thing I have to do is congratulate you on succeeding in your trial. You performed admirably for an outsider being tested as though he were a year older than he is."
I bowed deeply out of true respect.
The Master inclined his head to return my bow. "If there is nothing else you may go."
I hesitated. Inside I wanted to burst. He had the answer I needed, but I did not have the right to ask the question. His praise had been sincere, but was he testing me? I opened my mouth, the words on the tip of my tongue, then shut it again.
"Nolan ra Sinjaria, is there something you wish to ask me?"
I nodded and swallowed hard. "You spoke to Lord Hansur and gave me my fifth flag." A thin curtain of smoke drifted between us and I could not read his face as I spoke. "Why? I had failed."
He watched me as he considered his answer. I stood there and felt very alone. I had tried my best, but I had failed. An exception had been made in my case, and I needed to know it was because of more than pity for a child who made a fool's trek halfway across a continent or a boy who stood up to an enemy and refused to admit defeat in a war long finished. That type of person could be found anywhere in the Shattered Empire. I needed to believe there was a good reason for the Master's action, and I wanted to know what it was.
The Master stood and walked down the half-dozen steps to the carpet. "Understand this, Nolan. I am not often called upon to explain my choices, and certainly never by a novice."
I bowed my head. "Forgive me. I meant no disrespect."
He smiled and snorted a half chuckle. "I know that, and because that answer is so important to you I will explain at least part of my motivation." He seated himself on the steps rather unceremoniously. "When you reached the end of the trial you had gathered all the flags you could have gotten, save the one from the first obstacle. You were injured in that first challenge, yet the test did not trap you. If it had you would have fallen in the pit and never gotten out without help. You realized your error and saved yourself. You learned something in that test, and you'll not be caught by that sort of thing again."
Talion Revenant Page 9
