Talion Revenant

by Michael A. Stackpole

  "Forgive me, Your Highness, but a bandit must take any opportunity available to steal what he can." I placed my hands behind my back and tried to look pleasant. I saw Selia in the crowd standing next to Duke Vidor and I nodded at her. She smiled.

  The Princess apparently saw my nod and Selia's reaction. Her voice seethed with anger. "You, my lord, are a rogue and a scoundrel."

  I turned my head and stared down at her. "The Lady Selia and I finished our conversation in the gardens quickly. You certainly marked her return alone. I may be a bastard, my lady, and I may have been pressed into this duty, but you should know that only something of grave importance would carry me away from acquitting myself honorably in your service." A smile remained frozen on my face while I spoke in whispers and I'm sure only the most unkind court gossip even suggested anger in our words.

  Princess Zaria looked straight ahead and ignored me as the first Ambassador presented his gift to her. He approached, introduced himself and his wife, then stepped aside so the servants bearing his nation's token could bring it forward. The servant stood while the Ambassador explained the significance of the offering; then they all moved to the right and deposited the gift on a table.

  Incalculable wealth passed before us in a parade containing gifts from every corner of the Shattered Empire and beyond. Many of the gifts were traditional, like twenty of the finest stallions Kartejan had to offer, or a pearl necklace from Takkesh. Each Ambassador made it clear in his description of the item that it represented the hopes of his people for the Princess's long and prosperous life, and a renewal of the good relations between their two nations. The most obsequious speeches came from Hamis's neighbors, while the most interesting gifts came from far away.

  The Temuri Ambassador offered a set of eight goblets and a golden pitcher. Each goblet differed and represented the tribe whose artisans had created it, while the pitcher represented the capital of Betil. I had to smile at the arrangement, which subtly implied that without Betil the other tribes would be useless, and wondered if similar thoughts ran through the minds of any Temuri subjects at the reception.

  The Daari Ambassador offered the strangest and most chilling gift of the evening. It was a mask of beaten gold that looked exactly like the Princess, and truly matched her beauty from the position I first saw it resting there on a servant-borne velvet pillow. Then the Princess picked it up, letting blue satin ribbons dangle from either temple, and started. She turned it toward me and I saw that delicate and intricately convoluted scrollwork scarred the left profile. At once gorgeous and hideous, it shot a cold lance of lightning through me.

  The Princess made no attempt to hide her pleasure with the gifts, and greeted each with wonder and joy. The only exception to this rule was when Lancer Captain Herman appeared before her. As he strode boldly up to the dais and dropped to one knee with military precision that left the other courtiers looking careless and sloppy, she shivered and her smile dulled.

  "As you know," he intoned in a deep voice, "Talions acknowledge no ruler other than their Master, and our Ambassadors are simple soldiers, like myself." He smiled, rose, and took from his lieutenant a circular shield with the Lancer crest on it. "We, the Lancer troop in your father's service, present you this shield as a symbol of our pledge to defend your sovereignty and honor your nation."

  I saw muscles twitch in her jaw; then she thanked him and nodded to his aide. She did not extend her hand to him to be kissed, and Herman withdrew as if he did not even notice the affront. He turned with razor sharpness and marched away. The only unmilitary thing about him was the trace of a smug grin on his lips.

  Once the independent nations finished their presentations, the time came for the gifts from Hamis. The King led the procession bearing the mountain-leopard skin. He knelt at his daughter's feet and laid the pelt out. He smiled at her proudly and brushed away the tear coursing down her right cheek before he withdrew.

  Grand Duke Fordel followed his nephew and gave the Princess a key. It opened the door to a villa on Lake Tamar, which lay deep within his demesne. "Because you so enjoyed spending summers there when you were younger, I cede it to you. May the future Kings and Queens of Hamis enjoy it as much as you did." His remarks were relayed back through the crowd and everyone nodded approvingly as the Princess stood and kissed her grand-uncle on the cheek.

  Because Count Patrick stood at Princess Zaria's left hand, he could not present his gift to her in person so, as with me, a surrogate took his place. His son, Lord Phillip, nervously carried a toy boat up the Princess, and mumbled something out. The Princess graciously accepted the gift while Patrick translated for his son. "The boat is a model of a sailing ship I have built for you to sail on Lake Tamar, in remembrance of your times there when you were but a child."

  The other counties, baronies, and marches in Hamis and Sinjaria followed the royal family and presented gifts that could not match the opulence of the free nations' presents,

  but were more heartfelt and given to honor her instead of furthering diplomatic aims. The last gift to be offered the Princess was the wine Count Evin had sent, and she received it as graciously as she had any other gift.

  As my surrogate turned away I stepped down and stood before her. "I realize, Your Highness, that each of these gifts was given by a people, not by an individual. I have a gift to present to you, and as it would be unseemly for me to give it from myself, and you have already accepted a gift from Yotan, allow me to entrust it to you as an offering from your people, the subjects of Hamis." I turned, pointed to Halsted, and smiled as the elder servant carried the leopard kitten to the Princess.

  I took the beast from him and laid him in her lap. "The kitten's mother is dead. Care for the leopard as you will care for us."

  I took her hand, kissed it, and looked up. She said something in a small voice, but I didn't hear the words. Recovered from their stunned silence at my action, the nobles burst into spontaneous applause and drowned out her words.

  The King stepped up behind his daughter and rested his large hands on her shoulders. "In my daughter's name, and that of a nation, I wish to thank you all. Stay, enjoy the bounty provided by the nobles who hunted with us." He smiled and spread his hands to take in the parade of servants carrying steaming platters of meat to the previously empty serving tables. "But I caution those who would participate in the coming tournament: a full stomach tonight may well presage a short ride tomorrow."

  * * *

  Count Patrick, Phillip, and I wandered the tourney field early that next morning. Brightly colored pavilions had sprouted up like giant rainbow mushrooms all around the field below Castel Seir. Servants and squires trotted over the field carrying everything from food and wine to armor and decorative pennants. Nobles, many of them the same men who followed Grand Duke Fordel in the Dhesiri warren, stood outside their tents in full armor and graciously invited the wandering ladies to sit and watch them spar against their squires or other nobles.

  The tournament field stood beyond the forest of pavilions. The royal box sat in the center of wooden stands on the north end of the field and was situated perfectly to watch the combat. The field itself was level and sown with grass, though the patchy center's brown grass gave way to small areas of golden sand.

  The three of us watched two combatants go through an elaborate routine of parries and thrusts. They executed each move with far more flourish than was necessary, but their actions amply thrilled the small group of women standing nearby. I found it mildly amusing, but Patrick frowned.

  "I hate this, Nolan, it is so pointless!" He shook his head and waved a hand as if a sorcerer attempting to make all the tents vanish. "The sons of the highest-born lock themselves in tin carapaces to batter each other for the right to be the Princess's Champion during the coronation. Most of them have had little training, and they will limp around court for the next week."

  I shrugged as if it he made too much out of a little thing. "That just means there will be less competition for the ladies at the balls
to follow the coronation." I nodded my head toward two fighters who fought with more fire and less show. "Besides, if they do learn something in a Grand Melee it might save their lives in the event Hamis goes to war and calls upon them."

  The Count smiled in a most evil manner. "In that case, half of them should already have their surrogates fighting for them."

  I laughed and we continued our stroll through the tents. The conversation naturally drifted to fighting tactics and strategy and I realized Count Patrick possessed a superior grasp of combat theory, both on an individual and army level. We watched various fighters practicing and discussed the flaws in their styles. Over and over the Count noted one thing that disturbed him. "Most of these nobles just play at fighting. You and the King were deadly in the warren because you were fighting to kill, not to first blood."

  I frowned. "Your criticism is not fair. In the warren we, you and the Duke included, had no choice, and we knew we had to kill our foes because they wanted to kill us." I paused and pointed to the nearest fighters. "Most of their fights are to first blood. They are not out to kill, they fight for honor, and that demands a bit of skill, not a death blow."

  A bass voice commented from behind us. "That is quite a wise insight, Lord Nolan."

  I narrowed my eyes, but forced a pleasantly surprised expression on my face by the time I'd completed my turn. Captain Herman snapped a quick head bow at me by way of a salute and smiled easily. "The question you are wrestling with is this: Would a highly trained warrior defeat these duelists in a battle today?"

  I pursed my lips and pondered the question for a moment. "Since you posed the question that way, I assume you have an answer."

  The Lancer nodded confidently. "I have no doubt a trained and experienced warrior would tear through the nobles assembled before us."

  Count Patrick spoke up with a challenge in his voice. "Perhaps one of your Lancers will enter the lists and prove your theory?"

  The Captain smiled and shook his head. "No, I am afraid that is not possible. No Talion could ever participate in such a display because of the politics involved. For a Talion to be chosen the Princess's Champion he would have to ignore the most basic and important dictum Talions live by. We are, at all times, impartial and never become entangled in politics." The Captain turned to me, and a look of surprised joy lit his features. "But Lord Nolan here could prove my theory. By all accounts he is quite skilled at arms."

  Before I had a chance to answer I felt a delicate hand slip onto my left forearm. The Princess's hand felt gently for the sheath I'd worn last night, then smiled up at me when she found it. She smiled coldly at the Lancer Captain. "You need not question Lord Nolan, Captain. The rumors of his having been a bandit in the Darkesh are baseless inventions."

  Captain Herman smirked self-confidently. "On the contrary, I merely remarked to Lord Nolan that I felt he would do very well in today's combat, and would prove a point I had made to the Count."

  The Princess looked at me. "Will you fight for me, Lord Nolan?"

  The Lancer froze for a half second like a cat spotting prey.

  I smiled graciously and rested my right hand over hers on my arm. "I would gladly do so, Your Highness, but I have no armor." I nodded toward both the Count and Captain Herman. "And even if, as these sage men suggest, I would fight well enough to become your Champion, doing so without armor would be impossible."

  Captain Herman clasped his hands together and brought them to his chest in an overdone gesture of joyous discovery. "Why, since none of my men are fighting, I am certain one of my Lancers would lend Lord Nolan armor."

  My heart sank, but the look the Princess gave me buoyed it again. "Then if you give him armor, I will give him a shield." She squeezed my arm and turned to the Lancer with an icy stare that appeared to physically impact him.

  Captain Herman bowed deeply and turned away. He marched off proudly and shouted orders to his subordinates. The Princess snorted and shivered irritably. "Good riddance."

  A frown flashed across my face. "You do not seem to like him very much, do you?"

  The anger drained from her eyes and she smiled up at me. "It is not just him, it is all Talions. They are so arrogant and superior. I wish one of his Lancers was in the lists so you could trounce him as well as the others."

  "How many Talions have you known, Your Highness?" She shrugged and held up four fingers before I continued. "I think your judgment is rather harsh with such limited experience to back it up. Your father seems to tolerate them well enough. He has not banned them as Jania has."

  Princess Zaria's eyes narrowed. "I never expected a Darkesh bandit to be an apologist for the Talions."

  I forced myself to laugh easily. "I have learned, over the years, to respect Talions. They train well, fight bravely, and prevent madness and evil from spreading too far."

  She smiled and nodded. "Your argument has merit, Lord Nolan, and carries more weight coming from you than it does from Captain Herman or any of the other Talion officers I've ever heard in court. Perhaps, when I become Queen, I will allow the Talions to stay on, but"—she smiled—"only if they send a leader who is not so proud of himself."

  For a moment I thought her father had revealed my identity to her, but her last comment plainly told me he had done no such thing. "Until a civil Lancer arrives here, though, may the Goddess rot all Talions."

  The Princess disengaged her hand from my arm gently and joined a circle of her handmaidens—which included Countess Jamila. Count Patrick laughed gently and slapped me on the back. "Well, my Lord, it appears you have impressed, or at least interested, my cousin and she wants you to be her Champion."

  I scowled. "I would have thought she wanted Duke Vidor to be her Champion. Everything I have heard has linked the two of them. Almost everyone supposes they will wed after she is crowned."

  The Count shrugged and led me off toward a black pavilion graced by a Lancer pennant. "I cannot tell you truly why she is so taken with you, though I can guess. Apparently your good looks, the rumor about you being a Darkesh bandit, and your reluctance to confirm or deny that tale have all contributed to your allure." He held the black tent flap aside for me and I preceded him inside the Lancer pavilion. "As for Vidor's fall from favor, I would guess both of them share a weariness for the stories wedding them to each other, and I know the Princess is uneasy with the way Vidor curries favor with all the different power factions at court."

  The lone Lancer straightened and rose from the floor. He smiled easily and did not recognize me. I took his offered hand and shook it. "I am Lord Nolan ra Yotan, this is Count Patrick ra Joti ra Hamis and his son Phillip."

  The brown-haired, brown-eyed Lancer shook hands with each of them in turn. He stood as tall as me, and had my general build. His grip was firm, his smile easily offered and gladly returned. "I am Lieutenant Slade ra Tal. You'll be using my armor."

  I nodded and we all stepped forward to examine it where he'd laid it out on the ground. I knew from his accent he'd been raised in Talianna, from his general appearance and rank I guessed he was four years my senior. Chances were very good we'd never seen each other but for a second or two at mealtimes in Talianna.

  He nodded toward the armor. "As you can see Talion armor is constructed a bit differently than the armor used elsewhere in the Shattered Empire. Strips of steel are bound together with cords so they overlap, like slate shingles on a roof, to form the armor itself." He picked up one of the armor strips meant to cover the shoulder and upper arm. "By binding the strings to a piece of leather we get an armor that is flexible and considerably lighter than most conventional armor."

  Patrick took the armor, turned it over, and then, when it was right side up again, gently punched it. The overlapping plates stopped his fist soundlessly. "I am impressed. But why are Talions the only people to use this armor?"

  Slade smiled. "The design is an old imperial one that was widely used before the joust became part of tournaments. This armor is not as effective as the normal plate when hit
by a lance so it fell out of favor. Still," he smiled, "I'd rather have it than nothing."

  I smiled weakly at that remark and stripped my doublet off. Slade dropped to one knee and fastened a braced mail greave onto my right leg. I almost asked Patrick to pass me a piece of the armor, which I knew quite well how to don, then stopped prudently. "I think this is the first time I've gotten into armor when not in the midst of some confused attack."

  Both men laughed at my comment and started a conversation that buzzed around me without my participation. I felt tension growing within me, and quickly identified the source. Lancers, and in fact every branch of the Talions aside from Justices, all wear face masks sculpted for them alone. It is part of their graduation from novice to Talion in much the same way as the tsincaat and ryqril are personalized for a Justice when he completes the Ritual. Justices wear a plainer mask of a death's-head design, but I did not have one with me, and could not have produced it even if I had. Unfortunately, since I could not wear Slade's mask, it looked as though I would have to fight with a bare face and, no matter what Patrick or Captain Herman thought of my opposition, I did not want to do that.

  I slid the mailed and braced sleeves on and Patrick helped tie a padded doublet in place while Slade fastened around my waist the armored apron meant to protect my thighs. I slipped the back and breast armor on over my head and discovered Captain Herman had entered the tent in the second or two of my blindness.

  "I am glad to see the armor fits so well." The Captain smiled at Slade and the Lieutenant placed the bowl-shaped helmet onto my head. A sheet of cord bound steel strips hung down to protect the back of my neck.

  Slade swore. "Captain, Lord Nolan cannot use my mask. We cannot send him out without a face mask."

  Captain Herman smiled. "We would never do that. Lord Nolan is fortunate. We have a mask like the ones Justices use. It will fit."