The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  Which left her only one option. She pushed her hood back because a shaded face was a cause for inspection. Hopefully, the dyes she rubbed into her skin earlier would hide her race. She could never pass as Chin, but that was not her plan.

  "I have to see him," she told the first woman who approached. "I have news." She spoke in Nefran because, as far as she knew, Nefra was the most heavily advertised adversary Aaron Turner owned outside of Bill Clack. Nefra had recently backed away from its stance, but she doubted these Chin would know this.

  "Beloyag," the woman told her. "Yemond et lakalla."

  "It would make things easier if any of you spoke Nefran," Martha told them.

  Another woman approached. She was taller than most of the Chins Martha had encountered, and the peculiar cast to her face said she possessed mixed parentage.

  "He sleeps," the woman said in heavily accented Nefran. "Come in the morning."

  Martha scowled. "In the morning then. The first thing I'll tell him is you kept him from hearing about Turner's reinforcements. The second thing I'll tell him is how we missed an opportunity to trap those reinforcements."

  "Hold!" A third woman stepped forward. Though of pure Chin blood, her voice held not a trace of accent. "What is this?"

  "A force, seven thousand strong, is coming up the river in boats. They are whites, and they carry guns like we used to have. There's a place where they have to portage. If we are quick, we can stop them there, but we'll have to leave soon."

  "How do you know this?" the woman demanded.

  Not having a name to deliver, Martha took a shot.

  "She told us," Martha said, emphasizing the word she. "The scout. She caught us when the band I traveled with was returning and ordered us to bring the general the news. She said it was urgent, and we would lose the war if these people got through."

  "And the rest of your band," the woman demanded.

  "Dead," Martha responded. "Ambushed. I'm the only survivor. That might be why she spoke to me. I can't think of another reason why she gave her messages to a foreigner."

  Apparently, her repeated use of the word she was having some effect. The mysterious scout must be known well enough to have garnered both respect and fear.

  "Perhaps the witch knew you would be the only survivor," the woman told Martha. "Lioth has done stranger things." She looked toward a guard. "Ur hablase et tromond," she ordered. "Verdad gel las et ba atlad." She spoke once more to Martha. "Your information had best be correct. It's your life if it is not."

  "I only know what the scout said," Martha replied.

  She waited patiently until Han Chuk stood before her.

  "Report," he ordered in atrocious Nefran.

  "Gladly," Martha replied as she positioned the small tube hidden beneath her tongue. "I have a message for you from Aaron Turner."

  His eyes grew large, and he started to shout, but she spit her dart, striking him in his neck before he had time.

  "You're dead," Martha said. She knew his vocal chords were already paralyzed, but he could still hear.

  Both understanding and relief reflected from Han Chuk's eyes. He nodded and fell moments before the first spear pierced Martha's side. She staggered and spat, feeling pride when a second dart found its target even as her thrown knife entered a warrior's eye.

  Another spear found her body and then a third. Martha lay on the ground. Flickering firelight faded, and she felt peace. For the first time ever, she had used her craft for its created purpose. Her life had been well spent.

  Knowing this was enough

  .

  Chapter 23

  "Something is wrong," Melna said from her place on the wall.

  Heavy hearted, Aaron tore his gaze away from the rabble occupying his city, wondering what the hell they wanted and what he had ever done to them. He supposed they thought of themselves as an army. If so, they were deluded. At best, they were a nearly mindless mob. Though their numbers were half again as large as his own, his warriors could easily kill their thousands while losing few. Aaron's people might be barely disciplined, but he doubted the people down there could even grasp the concept of discipline. No matter. Before long, they would attack, and he would defend. The result would be mass murder.

  Running a hand across his face, he shuddered, knowing he did not have the will needed to murder thirty thousand dupes.

  Which was why he had passed the responsibility over to another.

  He briefly glanced at Melna before fastening his gaze on Patton "You know what to do?"

  Patton nodded. "I doubt they'll attack today. They need to set up their own fortifications and arrange for a permanent camp first."

  Harvest Patton was not much over twenty-five, an awfully young age for a man to take on so much responsibility. He hoped Patton was up to the job because the Chins were more comfortable taking orders from him than they were from Aaron.

  "Just remember they'll probably go after the unfinished wall first. Watch the wind. If it's blowing toward the city, this could hurt us."

  "I'll remember, but shouldn't we wait until they're fully committed. It will only work once."

  "I'm not looking for a body count," Aaron told him. "Just follow orders and get me a prisoner. I want to know what their complaint against me is."

  "I'm not sure if it's the best way to do this."

  "Mister Patton!"

  "Sir?"

  "If you ever want to sleep with my wife again, you will do as you are told!"

  There, that got the man's attention.

  "He has known," Melna said in confirmation. She licked her lips, and then bit the bottom one. "Aaron, I've discovered I love you as a friend or a brother. I love Harvest like a husband. We--after this is over we need to come to a decision. I can't live this way."

  "You won't kill her!" Patton threatened. He looked ready to murder.

  "Of course not," Aaron snapped. "Just do what I tell you. This will work out for all of us somehow. I promise."

  "Something is still wrong," Melna repeated worriedly as she tried to divert the conversation. "Zisst has disappeared. I was holding it just a moment ago, only it's gone, and I feel like the weight of the world is crushing me down."

  "I know." A call pulled at Aaron, urging him to travel in a certain direction. Turning his head slowly, he gauged the call's strength against his change of focus. It did not come from the university buildings nor yet did it originate from any of the erected dorms. As best he could tell, it pulled strongest toward the utility house. Something there needed his attention. He found this alarming since it meant things were happening he had not planned for.

  "Mister Patton, you're in charge. I need to check on something."

  "We'll talk later," Patton promised.

  "I'm coming with you," Melna insisted. Aaron did not argue. Melna was safer on the ground than up on the walls.

  "Come along then," he told her and maneuvered past a dozen Chin defenders before reaching a ladder he could climb down. The ladder was insecurely fastened so it wobbled beneath him. That was fine. They would be pulled away if the enemy mounted the walls, leaving them standing on a thin ledge with no way down. Hopefully. In all the stories Aaron read he hadn't noted one incident of the raiders carrying a second set of ladders with them.

  Aaron waited until Melna's feet touched the ground. "Follow me."

  Five minutes later he walked through the utility building's doorway to discover more than a dozen people gathered around a figure lying on the floor.

  "Perteet," Zisst said sadly.

  "Oh, no," Aaron whispered. "No, no, no." Taking half a dozen steps, he fell to his knees and lifted a wrinkled hand.

  "She just collapsed," Missy whispered.

  "Heralda?"

  The shaman's faint smile seemed accepting as her weakened fingers grasped his hand. "It's time. He calls."

  Heralda's face appeared old and wrinkled. It had been worn but youthful only a few days earlier. Her features spoke of hardship and deprivation, creating somethin
g decades too old to be worn by his friend.

  "Please don't leave me," Aaron whispered.

  "I must," she replied. "He calls."

  "Why? Why you? You do his work! You spread his word! His power flows in you."

  "But I am not the Bringer," she whispered. "I am only the Guide. It is you who are the Chosen. I feel him in you. His presence is so strong."

  Aaron shook his head. "Not like you," he insisted. "He speaks to you. Always. You deliver his message and spread His word. I've--I've rarely heard His voice. I seldom know His will." He shuddered. "Heralda, there's been a mistake. I'm not his Chosen. You are."

  Her ancient eyes were kind and sorrowful. "Flesh of two worlds where my flesh is not," she whispered, "Mine is too weak to carry his power for long. Aaron Turner, you are the Bringer. You are Death to false faith. He has Chosen you if only you will see."

  "Heralda." Choking back a sob, he raised her thin hand to his damp cheek. Heralda was dying. His friend and mentor was dying, and while she died, she used her last moments to comfort him. "I'm flawed. Unworthy."

  "I killed in war," she whispered so low her voice caressed against his skin. "I knew jealousy, anger, and hate. For these reasons I was made the Guide. Who else can understand the pain and sins of the world's people except someone of good heart who has suffered in her own right?"

  "I feel Him in me," Aaron admitted. "He's there, but I so seldom hear Him."

  "You barricade Him from you," she sighed, and then her chest lay still.

  Something unseen separated rose, and ghosted high.

  "Perteer," Zisst said, raising its face to the utility building's roof. Following its gaze, Aaron watched as the filmy, nebulous contours of a beloved friend slowly worked its way through the roof's cracks. Pausing, it fluttered franticly as something seemed to bar its way, and then a ghostly hand, shining golden radiance, reached through the roof to cup Heralda's spirit in Its palm.

  And then they were gone.

  Aaron drew in a shaky breath.

  He looked to the others. All except Missy gazed sadly at Heralda's withered body. Eyes misty, mouth open, Missy stared upward, telling Aaron she, too, had seen God's hand.

  Melna's touched his shoulder. "I'm so sorry'"

  "Don't be," he whispered. "Don't be sorry at all."

  Parting his shirt, Aaron pulled his Talent Stone from its leather bag. Then, like Missy and Kim before him, Aaron Turner threw his Stone away, watching it crumble and powder as it flew from his body.

  "That's it," he said to Melna as the Stone's dust settled. "I'm done with it. I'll never claim another."

  His knees trembled.

  * * *

  On September the twenty-third, the outer sections of the city named New Beginning were visited by thirty thousand religious zealots who wanted nothing more than to tear down it walls and rip Aaron Turner's head from his shoulders. Lacking Turner, they were more than willing to murder anyone foolish enough to work for him.

  To Prophet of the Lord's unhappy surprise, and to Armand's modified pleasure, the city's composition was different from what Prophet had expected. Although the city possessed no walls, the university did. Even incomplete, they were sturdy enough to offer his zealots difficulties. Prophet sat in a chair on the flat roof of one of the city's houses. Crowding the rooftop were a number of his followers and appointed guards. Armand watched while Prophet studied his makeshift army as well as the offending walls.

  "How many did you say?" Prophet demanded from Heshel. She sat on his lap with her unbuttoned shirt spread wide, displaying the most perfect breasts Armand had ever imagined. A beatific smile marred Heshel's face as fingers pinched her left nipple with bruising force.

  Armand tried, but he could not look away. Heshel's partially nude body was stunning and not only because of her breasts. The woman radiated. Only loyalty to Faith kept him from admitting Heshel's anything put his wife's everything to shame. Faith, during the previous evening, had no problem asking Armand to make comparisons. It was, of course, totally unfair of her to laugh at him while asking her questions, but much about his wife had been unfair of late. Ever since discovering his total fidelity, the woman had been impossible. Not unexpected, he supposed, unfairness being an integral part of female nature.

  Heshel gasped when Prophet's fingers pinched particularly hard, but she still smiled As Armand understood her story; Heshel had once been a nobody. She seldom held a job longer than a few weeks before her temper, alcohol consumption, or both caused her employers to send her on her way.

  Those days of near obscurity and uncertainty were now in Heshel's past, seemingly almost forgotten by her dim brain. For the last three days, she had been a trusted news carrier for Prophet of the Lord. She was his gofer, his spokeswoman, the extra arm he needed in the lower classes. At night, she was his newest and most favorite toy.

  In short, Heshel was Prophet's adjunct. In Armand's opinion, a less qualified person could not be found for the job, which was all to the good. He had looked long and hard among the crusaders before subtly bringing Heshel to Prophet's attention. For his part, Prophet was too enamored by her body to notice Heshel owned an intellectual capacity sharp enough to fake knowledge, but far too limited to actually learn.

  Armand felt almost as optimistic about the pairing as he felt about the rest of Prophet's staff. Both a poor manager and worse general, if Prophet had possessed the skills needed for his assumed position, he would have known how untalented his staff really was. Unfortunately for Prophet, his past as a petty con and his boosted but still limited Talents were only enough to put him in a position to rule. They had not taught him how to rule.

  "There might be as many as fifty thousand people inside the walls," Heshel repeated. "This was told to me by Itol Armondy, only Malin Celanis says Itol knows nothing because there are no more than three or four thousand people inside. I've heard other estimates. My belief is we face no more than five thousand ignorant savages."

  "There were supposed to be no savages," Prophet of the Lord mused unhappily. "Only workers." He gestured idly. "And the rest of the city?"

  "Is empty," Heshel told him proudly. "We'll have a place to live when this cleansing is done." Shifting on his lap, she arranged her body so his right hand was better positioned to caress her undamaged breast. When Prophet began stroking, her pink nipple rose.

  Faith jabbed Armand with her elbow.

  "How'd you like to get your hands on those?" she whispered playfully. "I can arrange it if you like."

  "No thanks. They've been too thoroughly pawed for my taste," Armand replied unhappily. Fidelity had been much easier when Faith hadn't known about it. He might have to give serious thought to one or two brief affairs just to keep her in check. Except--damn it--he loved her to distraction, which the witch now knew. The entire situation was freeking wrong!

  He chanced an accusing glance toward Brenda Montpass. She caught his glance, but no humor rested in her eyes. She frowned, and her face sagged with misery. Armand recalled she hadn't spoken to them for the last two days. In fact, he had only seen her from a distance from that time to this. Something else he needed to check into.

  Prophet shoved Heshel from his lap. She hit the ground on her butt but quickly scrambled erect. Her beautiful orbs barely jiggled. Swallowing, Armand looked away while she calmly fastened her shirt.

  Prophet pointed a steady finger toward Armand. "You."

  "Me?" Armand responded.

  "Yes, you. I have decided to grant you a significant honor. You will lead the charge against those walls. Do not stop until the blasphemer's head is raised on a pike."

  "I hate to point this out," Armand tried, "but your plan doesn't make military sense. Your way might win through, but you'll lose the majority of your people."

  Prophet made a throwing away gesture. "There are more where these come from." He pointed toward the walls. "I can recruit new cattle. All I need is for them to hear my voice. The Lord will bring them to my cause."

  More like your
Talent will compromise their minds, Armand thought. Unfortunately, Prophet's inability to speak a foreign language did not hamper his ability to manipulate people's minds.

  "It strikes me I'll be one of those dead," Armand noted.

  "Preferably," Prophet agreed. He gestured again. "Three, bring me my new toy?"

  Like the automation she was, Three stepped forward and dropped something small into his hand.

  "I'm not sure I approve of dying," Armand said, uncomfortably aware several guards had closed in on him. Others held Faith's arms.

  Prophet held up his hand. Between his thumb and forefinger rested one of Brenda's tiny steel balls. "Two of my more faithful followers, women named Borland and Lundy, told Three you people carried something interesting. Imagine my surprise when they proved correct."

  Armand threw another look toward Brenda. Her eyes remained miserable.

  "I'm sorry," her lips silently shaped.

  "I could, of course, force you to go," Prophet said. "As Miss Montpass is more than willing to testify, possessing one of these will not keep me from overcoming a person's will if I concentrate hard enough. The effort will even be a touch easier now since this little ball seems to amplify my Talent by a small amount. However, I decided to place a bet with myself. I believe you're willing to die for your wife, so here's the deal. You'll lead five thousand people on a suicide mission against one of the walls so I can judge the quality of Turner's defense."

  "You said the word deal," Armand noted. Faith's face appeared stricken. Her eyes deep hollows. "What do I get out of this?"

  "Three!" Prophet snapped.

  "Master?"

  "Walk to the edge of the roof. Once there, jump off in such a manner your head strikes the ground. Do not use your hands to break the impact. Follow my instructions now."

  "Yes, Master."

  Without another word, Three stepped to the edge of the roof and dove off. A brief moment of silence…and then the meaty sound of a body striking the ground.