Talion Revenant

by Michael A. Stackpole

  "The summer, my lord, as if you do not remember." He smiled as if we shared a secret. "We are alone here, Lord Nolan, you can drop die pretense. I know who you are."

  I blinked my eyes and brushed water from my face. "You do?" I crossed my wrists in front of me for him to bind them. "I should have realized I never could fool the Talions, Captain Herman, but I did not. I had hoped to complete my role as the Princess's Champion, but if you must lead me away, it is your right and duty."

  Captain Herman smiled. "You've a glib tongue, I'll say that much for you. I've been told to expect your arrival, and I stand ready to assist you if I can."

  I dropped my hands with a splash, then raised my right hand to cover my embarrassed laugh. "Oh, you still believe I am a Talion." I sighed loudly and forced a look of relief onto my face. "Oh, Captain Herman, you gave me quite a start there. Whew, your discovery of my identity right now would not do at all."

  The Lancer raised his hands in surrender and stood. "Very well, Lord Nolan, or whoever you are, if you want to remain anonymous, I will respect your wish. But"—he smiled and bowed his head—"I stand ready to help you when you need the aid."

  "Thank you, Captain Herman. Few men can say they have a Talion's offer of assistance whenever they need it." I bowed my head to him and sunk myself in the pool once again when he finally closed the door. Then I emerged, wrapped myself in my sheet, and struggled up the stairs to go to sleep.

  * * *

  Adric woke me gently by making just a little bit more noise than he had to in laying out my clothing. I waded through dreamlees and blinked my eyes open. Adric smiled and poured a cup of steaming, black tea for me. He set it on my night table and the aroma saved me from sinking back to sleep.

  I pulled my knees to my chest and then slumped over onto the pillow. I saw some movement at the doorway to the bedchamber itself and looked up at Count Patrick's cheerful face.

  "And how is our Champion this morning?"

  I mumbled something at him, then sipped the tea. It was enough to wash the thickness from my tongue and I tried again to speak. "I am alive, and I think I will be much better when I finish this tea." I felt more alert already and traces of my dreams about a ball where everyone unmasked to reveal faces marked with the Lurkers' diamond tattoo around their left eyes faded quickly.

  Patrick nodded and brought his right hand from behind his back. In it he held a foot-long rectangular wooden box. "I want you to know I fought through crowds this morning to get this." He smiled and held it out to me. "Only because she asked, and because it is meant for you."

  I set the cup down and took the box. It was somewhat heavy, but not overly so. I looked up, puzzled, and asked, "I do not understand?"

  "You are the Princess's Champion. It is traditional for the Champion to be presented a gift from his patron as a symbol of favor and appreciation." He pointed to the box. "Open it."

  I did as he instructed. Inside, swathed in white linen, I uncovered a dagger and sheath. The dagger, like my ryqril, had an antler hilt. The blade was slender and straight—six inches of thick steel that made the stiletto both balanced for throwing and strong enough to punch through ring mail at close quarters.

  The sheath prompted me to laugh. Laces hung from both top and bottom so it could easily be bound to a leg or forearm. I slid the blade into it and smiled up at Patrick. "It's beautiful."

  "Good. I spent most of the morning trying to find something that would match your other dagger. And the Princess noted it would be very poor manners for you not to wear her token during the ceremony this afternoon, and the festivities thereafter, no matter what the laws say about concealing a dagger on your person when escorting royalty."

  Patrick excused himself and I settled back to finish my tea. Once I'd emptied the cup, I threw back the bedclothes and got dressed. My clothes were similar to the ones I'd worn to the reception except that the colors shifted from blue and silver to purple and black. Adric helped me tie the sheath to my left forearm and took great pains to see that the slit-seam on my sleeve was placed correctly for an easy draw.

  The ceremony scheduled for that afternoon was broken into two time-consuming halves, but I did not expect them to be as difficult as the tournament. I first had to escort the Princess to join the rest of the royal family in a reviewing stand. There we would watch the ambassadors and their national contingents parade into the Shudathi Temple. At the temple, the second, and potentially dangerous, part of the afternoon's activities would take place.

  The Shudathi Temple hosted the coronation because of its long association with the Hamisian royal house, and because it was the largest temple in Seir. The priests of Shudath and the Sea Serpent deity Aroshnaravaparta would jointly preside over the ceremony. Priests from the other temples would be accorded status as guests, but only the two patron deities of Seir would consecrate the coronation.

  I carried my sword belt with tsincaat and ryqril hanging from it. An open carriage would carry the King, Queen, Princess, and me to the reviewing stand, and wearing a blade while seated in a carriage is not an easy or comfortable thing to do. Later, in the stands and temple, I would strap the weapons on. Aside from the King, his guards, and the Lancers, I would be the only person in the temple allowed to wear a sword of any type during the coronation.

  I joined the Princess in the throne room. The Princess smiled when she saw me and quickly took my arm. Her fingers confirmed the presence of her gift on my forearm. "Do you like it?"

  I nodded. "I like it very much. I thank you; you have superior judgment." I glanced side to side and exaggerated the motions of a surreptitious search for enemies. "I hope I will not have to use it."

  Halsted ushered the two of us out into the Castel courtyard and pointed us to our coach. The King and Queen had already seated themselves with their backs to the coachman. I helped the Princess into the coach and she sat opposite her mother. I slid my tsincaat upright into a set of brackets at my right hand and nodded to King Tirrell.

  He smiled benignly and wiped sweat from his brow with his right hand. "I believe I was more comfortable when we first met, Lord Nolan."

  I chuckled and nodded my sympathy. The sun blazed near its zenith and the day was unseasonably warm. "I understand what you mean, but you will forgive me I do not wish to be back there right now."

  The King smiled, took his wife's hand, and kissed it gently.

  "Nor would I wish to be anywhere else, but I could wish for lighter clothing or a heavier breeze."

  The King wore heavy robes of gold and purple satin and velvet. A thick gold chain hung around his neck and supported a large gold medallion engraved with a map of his kingdom. He wore eight rings: one for each of the seven Hamisian provinces and the last for Sinjaria—that ring had belonged to Duke Vidor's father until his death. Seven golden panels formed his crown. Each rose to a point and a gem glittered from the top of each. Ages ago the greatest craftsmen in each province labored hard to produce the parts of the crown. It was magnificent.

  The Queen and Princess both wore gowns of purple and gold as well. The Queen's dress had a single stripe of gold satin running throat to hem that accentuated her slender beauty. I knew the Hamisian crown jewels included a Queen's crown that complemented the King's, but Queen Elysia eschewed it in favor of a beaten gold crown featuring seven simple spires.

  Princess Zaria's gown was a swirl of purple and gold velvet and satin stripes that started narrow at her shoulders, twisted around her body, and broadened out at the hemline. The tailored dress hugged her torso and swathed her legs. The diadem encircling her brow was a slender gold band.

  The coachman cracked his whip and our coach rolled from the courtyard on into the streets lined with humanity. The Princess smiled broadly at the crowd and waved heartily. The crowd responded, cheered her, and shouted her name. Many people threw flowers and others lifted children high so they could see. People waved back to the Princess and excitement coursed through the crowd as we passed.

  My enthusiasm for and
enjoyment of the parade faded as I saw three pickpockets working their way through the crowd. I knew that for each clumsy one like them, there had to be ten I missed. I saw crippled beggars who were not maimed or marred in any way, and "farmers" who stood watch like soldiers as we passed. I studied dark windows and closed doors and wondered how many conspirators and plotters lurked in the shadows to laugh derisively at the outpouring of love for the Princess.

  Somewhere out there, waiting for this evening, the nekkeht bided its time.

  A woman broke past the horsemen riding along the street edges and ran toward the coach. My right hand shot to my ryqril and I slipped my left hand around the Princess's shoulder so I could pull her back. Tears streamed down the woman's face, yet she smiled and looked deliriously happy. She raised her hands and I leaned forward with ryqril half-drawn, then I stopped.

  The crying woman presented the Princess a bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers. The Princess kissed her on the cheek and brandished the flowers like a conqueror's sword. The crowd screamed even louder than before and the woman drifted in a daze back to the outstretched hands of her friends.

  My heart obediently dropped from my throat to its proper position and I settled back down in the carriage. I caught the King's eye and acknowledged his nod of thanks. I forced a smile onto my face and shook my head. Neither the Queen nor Princess even noticed how close to dying the woman had come.

  I watched the roofline for an attacker with a crossbow, but the parade ended without incident. We left the carriage, took our places in the stands, and awaited the others' arrival at the temple across the street. Count Patrick, his wife, and his parents stood behind us, and the other royal children spread out on either side of the canopied royal box.

  We stood to watch the nobles and their companies pass by. As a rule, house troops had to wait outside the temple during the coronation, but they made colorful and fascinating additions to the parade. The local nobles and their troops marched past us first, and the spectators cheered the nobles and troops from their home provinces the loudest.

  Sterlos lead the pagent of nations. A dozen black warriors clad in animal skins and carrying spears and shields surrounded the Sterlosian Ambassador. Their oiled ebon skin shone in the sunlight. Each of the warriors, adorned with teeth and claws from various jungle animals, exuded confidence and domination. Only the Ambassador himself, with a gold and lapis lazuli pectoral, white kilt, and staff even vaguely resembled the sorcerers Sterlos was famed and feared for.

  Imperiana's contingent was equally impressive. An Imperianan Prince led a dozen men in full suits of glittering, gold-gilt, plate armor. They swathed their warhorses in vibrantly colored silks. None of the men shared Tafano's size but they still dwarfed most men present. Each carried a lance stabbing high into the cloudless blue sky. The lances on the left flew a pennant bearing the Imperianan crest, while those on the right flew pennants in Hamisian blue and gold.

  The Lancers came last and followed the Daari demon-dancers as if they meant to drive them from the streets. Without a doubt, and in spite of my prejudicial feelings about them, the Lancers were the most impressive of all the companies in the parade. Captain Herman led three dozen of them, all on matched black stallions. The Lancers wore black leathers akin to my Justice uniform, and had polished them until they glowed. Each rider and horse faced forward and did not acknowledge the crowd at all. The ranks stayed absolutely even and stopped before the box without word or sign passing from Captain Herman or Lieutenant Slade.

  Lancers drew their swords at the same time and, snapping them up in front of their faces in a salute, turned to face the Princess. The hiss of steel on scabbard echoed deafeningly from the temple façade, and the sunlight sparkling from the silver blades blinded me for a second. Their precision took my breath away and I had to admit that Captain Herman kept his men well trained. I'd seen Lancers at practice hundreds of times, and I had worked through their drills myself, but I'd never seen such a degree of unity as I did in the Lancers stationed in Seir.

  I was not alone in my appreciation of the Lancers' skill and discipline. The crowd fell silent and gaped in awe. The swords fell and were resheathed in so smooth a motion that very few who watched could be certain exactly how the Lancers had homed the blades so quickly. Not one rider missed his scabbard and not one horse quivered or reacted as the blade played so close to its neck.

  Then, as a unit and without visual or verbal sign, the Lancers trotted their mounts forward again.

  The crowd always clapped, politely, for each group passing in front of it, but applause for the Lancers exploded from their hands. Children laughed, giggled, and clapped their hands above their heads. Patrick's son Phillip tugged at his own hair so it might stand up like the manes on the Lancers, and King Tirrell bowed his head to me respectfully.

  Hamisian house troops cordoned off a pathway from the viewing box to the temple doorway. The King and Queen preceded the Princess and me along a royal blue carpet woven with a gold diamond design. We passed into the temple and down a long aisle between the backed benches where the nobles and guests sat. The carpet ended at the altar, which stood beneath a giant statue of Shudath and was flanked by the High Priestess of Shudath and the High Priest of Aroshnaravaparta.

  I guided the Princess past the bench where her parents had taken a seat and stood with her until she knelt at the foot of the altar. I backed off to her right and stood on a black stone square sunk flush with the gray granite temple floor. Across from me, on the other side of the carpet, I saw a white stone square. The sight of it sent a shiver through me, so I looked away and, instead, studied the statue of Shudath.

  The stone idol looked nothing like she had the previous night, though it really differed little from other statues of the Goddess I'd seen in my youth and travels. The statue depicted a pregnant woman of an indeterminate but youthful age. Here she bore three stalks of wheat on her right hand, because her statues usually held products raised in the local region. Oddly though, especially with a temple to Aroshnaravaparta in the city, the fingers of her left hand supported an actual fishing net.

  An older woman served as the High Priestess of Shudath in the Hamisian capital. She'd braided her thick, white hair and it hung over her right shoulder. Still very slender, only her bony hands, her hair color, and the line around her blue eyes betrayed her age. She looked out at the assembled crowd and smiled warmly to welcome them.

  She raised her hands to shoulder height and spread them out to include the whole temple as she spoke. "We are here to formally acknowledge this woman Zaria as daughter of and heir to the throne of Hamis." Her voice, clear and loud, reached every corner of the building without growing shrill or losing any of its power. She spoke like a mother explaining a family tradition to a visitor and set all of us at ease.

  The Priest of Aroshnaravaparta was a fairly young man. He stood as tall as I did, but was far more slender than I am. A sharkskin thong gathered his long black hair at the back of his neck and, while he did not wear a sailors' beard, his right earlobe did support a thick gold earring. I understood that he had been raised in the temple his whole life and was believed to be the reincarnation of the last High Priest, so I accepted that as the explanation of how so young a man had risen to so high a station this early in his life.

  He looked at King Tirrell with deep, compassionate, brown eyes. The King stood. "Do you, King Tirrell, acknowledge this woman, Zaria, as your daughter?"

  The King's voice rang out crisply like the peal of fine crystal. "I do."

  "Do you designate her as your heir, to succeed you on the throne, to defend it against any claims by a pretender?"

  "I do."

  The King seated himself and the High Priest walked over to stand beside me. Shudath's High Priestess laid her hands on Zaria's head. She looked up, watched the crowd and focused on the yet open temple doors. "Is there any person here who disputes her bloodline?"

  No one replied. The High Priestess clapped her hands once sharply, then gent
ly returned them to Princess Zaria's head. "Does anyone present dispute her claim to the throne?"

  Again silence answered her question. The High Priestess clapped a second time, but I detected a quiver in her hands as she pressed them to the Princess's head. That tremor seeped into her voice as she asked the final ritual question. "Is there anyone present who would press a prior blood claim to the throne?"

  The white square across from me drew my eyes to it. For a thousand years the ruling house of Hamis dreaded this third and final question. Through it an ulHamis could claim the throne in repayment for Prince Uriah's death. Any ulHamis aspirant had until the third clap to make his presence known and step into the white square across from me.

  If an ulHamis warrior did appear the ceremony would continue no further until I'd killed him, or he'd slain me and earned the right to wear the crown of Hamis. I dropped my hand to the hilt of my tsincaat, watched the crowd and waited.

  The clap I thought would never come echoed like thunder through the silence. I smiled. From this point forward nothing short of divine intervention could stop the coronation and deny Princess Zaria her crown. The cheers of the crowd outside faded as the temple doors closed.

  The High Priest returned to the Princess and laid his right hand on top of the High Priestess's left; then they both raised their free hands to shoulder height. In one voice they asked, "Do you, Zaria, vow to obey your father the King and renounce all claims to the throne before his death or willful abdication?"

  The Princess swallowed before her reply. "I do."

  "Do you acknowledge and accept as your Master and Mistress the nation, lands, and people of Hamis; to do what is right for them to the exclusion of others' wishes, even if it means pain or death for you and your family?"

  "I do." More strength and conviction poured into Princess Zaria's voice with this reply.

  The High Priestess smiled. She turned and lifted a golden crown from a blue satin pillow on the altar. She and the High Priest held it between them while the Princess removed her own coronet and handed it to me.