Talion Revenant

by Michael A. Stackpole

  I decided that nothing I had done while chasing Morai was unjust. I was uneasy with how I left Tafano, but the memory of his horse's death stole away any guilt I might have felt. Satisfied by, but not totally pleased with, my conduct, I left the hot alcove.

  The Shar Chamber's air struck me like a punch, wrapped me up in an icy blanket, and tried to peel my skin off to get at the warmth inside me. The air was not really that cool, but it was terribly cold in comparison. I descended into the steaming pool immediately, and only after the water had rewarmed my flesh did I notice that my leathers and weapons had been removed from the chamber.

  The deliciously warm water had been lightly scented with a spicy perfume I long ago commented that I liked. The comment had been made in passing to a clerk, and it had instantly become part of my record. Somewhere, hidden deep within the Services archives, a file existed concerning each and every Talion. It contained notations about his habits, preferences, and dislikes so the Services clerks could do everything to make his life pleasant. Of course, the records could be, and occasionally had been, used to make an arrogant Talion's life an exercise in slow torture.

  I interrupted my bath to drink down a goblet of watered wine. It quenched my thirst, and I managed to keep it down by drinking it slowly, before I returned to the bath and scrubbed every inch of my body. The week's worth of grime and bird scent, which had been loosened in the sweat chamber, washed off easily. After I'd scoured myself, I lay back in the water and floated in perfect warm comfort for far too little time.

  Finally, and reluctantly, I stepped from the pool and used two thick, white towels from a chest to dry myself. I combed my hair as best I could without a mirror and refolded the towels. From the same chest I took the two pieces of clothing that signified my physical purity. I tied a white strip of silk around my forehead and belted on a white silk loincloth. The ends of the loincloth extended just past my knees and were decorated with a black skull front and back.

  I positioned myself in front of the black slab of stone and touched its golden center with my right palm. Silently, slowly, the stone withdrew upward into the wall like a shadow shrinking from the sun. A small dark chamber carved from the same shaderock lay beyond the receding door. I entered it and was entombed.

  Across from the doorway stood a solid altar with a wide base and sharply sloped sides that narrowed to a top about two handspans wide. Seamlessly and smoothly chopped into the front of the altar was a cube open at the front and top. Shining radiantly, a skull carved of crystal sat within the alcove. A perfect replica of the death's-head tattoo on my palm rose in relief upon its brow. Behind and above it, illuminated by the white-argent glow, I saw the hilts of my tsincaat and ryqril. A Services clerk had sheathed them in the altar's flat surface.

  I crossed to the altar and knelt. The fabric of the loincloth rustled and the sound thundered through the small room. I waited until all echoes of sound faded and all the while stared into the sightless sockets of the skull. With silence restored and at peace inside myself, I raised my hand and pressed my palm to the forehead of the skull.

  My flesh felt like I'd raked my palm across a cactus or caught a glowing ember and held it tight. The skull itself radiated cold as my tattoo always did; in fact my own flesh seemed more a part of the skull than it did a part of me. I felt something flow into my body, ripple like a snake along my arm and coil into my brain. I could feel it slithering through my thoughts and retracing the same pathways I traveled in the hot room. It examined what I had done and judged my assessment of my own actions.

  I felt no pain, no fear, no joy. It observed me as I might observe quarry from afar. I could not hide anything I had done, but I felt no need to hide. I was content with myself and my actions.

  It began to withdraw and I felt it pulled something with it. Flashes of Rolf's life brushed past my consciousness, followed quickly by visions of the horse's life. The skull drew these other lives from me, took their life force away and cleansed me of the ghosts that might haunt me. This last phase of Shar left me totally clean.

  It left me and I withdrew my hand from the skull. I breathed a deep sigh. I stood and pulled my weapons from their slots in the stone. In response to their removal a panel of stone to the right opened up. I walked through it into a corridor. The wall sealed itself up and in a small basin carved from the wall I found a wooden disk with a room number on it.

  Services assigned me a room on the uppermost floor of the Justices' wing. While I felt somewhat sorry for the Fifteens who got moved into other rooms for the duration of my visit, I was more concerned over the fact that I was housed in the Justices' wing, as opposed to being given a room in the Star. This meant I'd get another mission quickly. I would be in Talianna long enough to be briefed and then sent out. That, coupled with my orders not to shave, clearly suggested I was in line for a covert mission where my identity as a Talion had to be obscured.

  The residents of the upper floor peeked out of their rooms at me as I walked down the hallway. What they saw was a tall, lean, well-muscled man with a fair amount of black hair on his chest. The gold Imperial-sized scar on my left shoulder came from a wound I got too far away from magicians who could heal it properly, which in and of itself was remarkable, and the four days' worth of black stubble gracing my chin certainly marked me as different. Clad only in a Shar loincloth and headband and carrying my weapons unhomed I made, at best, an unusual sight.

  I reached the room assigned to me and pushed the door open with my right foot. The interior looked exactly like the room I'd left behind three months earlier. My Tashari blanket, a gift sent from Orjan, even rested diagonally across the mattress as I'd last tossed it the day I was ordered out in pursuit of Morai. My clothing, including the newly washed clothing I'd had on the road and those items I'd left in Talianna, hung in the wardrobe. Other personal items—my razor a notable exception—were arranged on the dresser top in the same order I had left them when I last packed to leave.

  I leaned back against the doorjamb and laughed aloud. After the disorder of months on Morai's trail, constantly facing the threat of death or injury, the image of Services clerks scurrying about to get my room, whichever room that turned out to be, arranged exactly as I had left it three months ago forced me to chuckle. It also gave me a feeling of belonging, of literally having a home, and a place to return to after so much time.

  I took the swordbelt from the bed, slid my tsincaat and ryqril into their sheaths, and hung the belt in the wardrobe. Then I lay down on the bed, waited, and watched the door. I did not have to wait long.

  As I had done as a Fifteen displaced from his room by a visiting Talion, the Fifteens quickly knocked on the doorjamb and entered. "Talion, we hope our room will be adequate for your stay." The speaker was a tall, thin boy. His roommate was short and stocky.

  "I think it will suffice." I shifted a bit, as if moving to avoid a lump in the mattress, but they did not grimace. The whole exchange was a little game Talions play with those who will replace them. These youths knew the game well and waited for the next round in which they could ask their "guest" about the outside world.

  As a youth I'd very much enjoyed listening to Talions tell about their adventures, and as a Justice I enjoyed sharing stories with the novices. Still there was something about these two boys and the eager light burning in their eyes that made me uneasy. I narrowed my eyes and watched the smaller novice blush. I was in trouble.

  "Talion, we would be honored if you would share with us some insights about the world." The taller novice's delivery was flawless and very respectful.

  I nodded slowly and kept watching the other novice. "What would you have me tell you about?"

  The smaller novice squirmed a bit, but was too pleased with himself to be upset. "Perhaps it will seem trivial to you, but we will soon face our Journey and we wondered if you would tell us about your Journey year."

  Oh Jevin, you bastard! "I'd rather tell you about something more recent." I thought I could skirt the Fealaree
n's ambush but I walked right into the second half of his snare.

  "Yes, tell us about Morai. Wasn't he the one who...?" asked the tall youth. His roommate choked back a laugh.

  I frowned and cut him off. "Yes, he was. But that was another day, another time." Both of them recoiled and were afraid they'd overstepped their bounds, which they had, even if it was at Jevin's suggestion. I hated having one story about me outlive all the others, especially when it described a set of circumstances I could have done little to alter. "Does everyone know that story?"

  Both of them smiled sheepishly. "Yes."

  Before I could start a countercampaign against Jevin, a chime rang throughout the building. It signaled the evening meal and, as tightly as Jevin had woven his trap, it came not a second too soon. The youths darted out of the room; then the shorter one stopped and poked his head back in. "Will you be sitting with us?"

  "Perhaps. I must see if others have plans for me."

  He ran off and I shut the door. I changed into more suitable clothing. Instead of leathers I donned a black silk robe with a skull embroidered on the left breast. The robe had been cut to just below waist length and I belted it with a white silk sash. I selected some black silk trousers, put them on, and tucked them into the top of my boots. Actually a regulation uniform, Allen and his seamsters custom-made it for me from material I'd purchased during one of my missions. It was comfortable, light, and did not sap the feeling of well-being I had after Shar.

  Properly dressed but without weapons, I walked through the quiet, empty hall, down the stairs and through the supply corridor. I walked to the Star's north wing and came into the mess hall. As can be easily imagined of a room filled with hundreds of hungry people, it was chaos.

  The huge room took up the whole of the Star's north point. The kitchen, located in the extreme north corner, was staffed by Services personnel and novices under punishment. Long tables filled the rest of the room and fourteen individuals crowded around each one. Each of the identical tables had a Sixteen at both the head and tail to maintain some sort of order. The tables were grouped by branch, starting at the north end with Justices, Wizards, Elites, and Archers, then widening out to accommodate the Warriors, Lancers, and Services. All Talions, except those on exercises, watch or special duty, ate at the same time.

  The lords of each branch, His Excellency, and the Master sit and take their meals at a table set upon a dais in the northermost point in the room. On occasion one of them will rise to address the assembled multitude. The room has excellent acoustics which makes such a task relatively easy, though such addresses are usually kept short and come before food is actually served.

  The rules in the mess are quite simple and every novice learns to work around each one to his own benefit. Take one and pass the rest. If you finish a dish and someone wants more, you go get it. No throwing food. Everyone takes turns scraping and stacking the plates. On the surface it would seem that so simple a set of rules could not be misinterpreted or twisted, but the rules are, and more than once it has been suggested that Justices, not Sixteens, should supervise the tables.

  Services Talions wheeled carts laden with bowls and platters between the tables. They deposited one dish for each part of the meal at the head of the table. After a Sixteen took is portion, he passed the dish on, generally heading it the long way around the table from any novice who bothered the Sixteen for some reason. For a simple system it worked as well as could be expected, though feeding troughs had been offered as a viable and more orderly alternative.

  I looked across the room toward the Lords' Dais. Tables beside it were usually reserved for Talions back from the field. I smiled as I recognized Jevin and quickly crossed to his table.

  "Jevin, how are you?"

  The Fealareen smiled a full grin, stood, and clapped me on both shoulders. "They said you had returned, but no one told me you had left Shar." I could see that he was dying to ask if my hosts had interrogated me yet so I gave him no sign of their first attempt. Jevin waved me to the chair across from him. "Sit, Nolan, sit. What a night for you to return. We're having liver!"

  I grimaced then quickly scanned the nearby tables. "Marana's not here?"

  Jevin wolf-grinned. "You'll have to cool your ardor, she's off on a mission. She left quickly about a month after you did. I've had no word since then, but I just got back last week."

  A cook wheeled a cart to our table. I took the bowl of liver and selected a small charred portion of the meat. The cook winked an eye at Jevin and produced a portion of raw beef liver. Jevin smiled, a membrane nictitated up over his eyes for a second, and he licked his lips.

  "Did you have much trouble tracking Morai?" Jevin asked his question between gulps of liver.

  I shook my head, both to answer his question and to comment on the enthusiasm with which he devoured the meal. I had a hard time choking liver down even when it was burned black. "I can't eat this stuff."

  Jevin laughed lightly. "You eat it cooked. You might as well boil leather for boots. Liver is meant to be eaten raw."

  I spooned some green beans onto my plate and passed the bowl to Jevin. He looked at the beans the same way I had looked at the liver. "We're even. Want some applesauce?" I passed it to him and he emptied what little I'd left him onto his plate.

  "How did Morai get away this time?"

  "Why, did you have a bet with someone on his method?"

  "No, I heard some Elites laughing about a Justice..."

  I cursed. "Damn that Erlan." I paused. "Morai dropped me into a man-trap pit easier than if I'd been blind." I shook my head. "I thought I had him. He was standing there, large as life, and the ground just dropped out from under me."

  Jevin sat back and wiped his mouth with a tablecloth. "You did get the others?"

  I narrowed my eyes and stared at him. "You could rephrase that, old friend,"

  Jevin nodded and chuckled. "How did you get the others?"

  "Thank you." I wiped my mouth. "Rolf and Chi'gandir died at the Broad River ferry. I killed Vareck in Pine Springs and I had Grath executed by Pine Springs' Lord Mayor. Brede ambushed me and the minstrel whose song you butchered, Selia ra Jania, and died in the woods at the base of North Pass. Tafano wanted an honorable duel but set his horse on me. I broke his legs. I don't know if he's dead, and I don't care." Memories of Tafano's horse, while not as acutely painful as before Shar, took my appetite away.

  Jevin shook his head. "That was a nasty crew for Morai to be running with. You could have been killed if they'd jumped you all at once."

  I smiled. "Yeah, I would have been in trouble but Morai divided them up when he got word I was on their trail. He kept Brede and Tafano with him, knowing he could arrange it so they would fight me one on one. He knew the others, paired off as they were, would be hard-pressed to work together and get me. Still Rolf and Chi'gandir almost did the job." I forced another piece of liver down, knowing I'd be very hungry in the morning if I did not. Applesauce helped the taste immeasurably.

  "I got sent after Rostoth ra Kas."

  I nodded. "That should have been little more than a training exercise for you. He's only a slasher, not a cunning murderer."

  "You aren't kidding." Jevin speared another piece of liver, this one barely cooked, from the bowl. "He would have been easy but they wanted me to bring him back alive!"

  I rocked back in my chair. "Alive? That's odd. I wonder what they want with him?"

  Jevin shrugged his shoulders. His mouth was too full to comment but the gesture told all.

  I watched my friend eat. I'd always marveled at his ability to wolf down mountains of food. No matter how much he ate, though, there always seemed to be room for more. And there was not a single ounce of fat on that gray-green body of his.

  I leaned back in my chair. "So, there has been no word from Marana?"

  Jevin shook his head. "She came in from her last mission on the Daar-Thran border: some Daari cultists raiding Thran villages for sacrifices. She cleaned it up with her usual eff
iciency, apparently leaving the surviving cultists with the impression they had angered a nasty jelkom with their antics. They'll not be a problem for a long time yet."

  I shivered. Despite her problems I hoped my love for her would turn her away from her own savage side. What I did to Tafano was not easy for me, but for her it would have been a matter of course. Marana reveled in the mystical terror the Justices held for common people. For all I knew her way was better than mine, but for my own sanity I had to hope that was not the truth.

  Jevin continued eating and spoke between gulps of liver. "She did not need Shar, so she was sent out almost immediately. All I know is that she headed east. Rumors suggest she went out because there was trouble with the last Black Wagon."

  That surprised me. The Black Wagons were sealed wagons that traveled into and out of Talianna very infrequently. Elites usually escorted them and I'd never heard of any problem with a Black Wagon before.

  Though many tales got told of what the wagons contained, and many guesses were made whenever one rolled in or out, no one aside from the Master or His Excellency knew for certain what the wagons carried. I always assumed, because it was easiest, the wagons contained gold or prisoners. It was within the realm of possibility for someone to have attacked the wagon, but the person organizing the raid would have to be very brave, very stupid, or a traitor: a renegade Talion. But there were no renegades, unless you counted the recalled Janian Talions... .

  Before I could ask Jevin any questions about the wagon, he stiffened and swallowed quickly. He stood and bowed. I turned, rose, and repeated his action.

  Lord Hansur smiled and returned our bows. "Nolan, have you finished eating?"

  Whether or not I had finished, his question signaled the end of my meal. "Of course, my lord."

  Lord Hansur nodded to the Fealareen. "Jevin, you will excuse us."