His Ancient Heart

by M. R. Forbes

  "Today, you stand in for her." It had been the first, and last time he had loved. The last time he had truly felt. He put the coin to his lips, kissed it gently, and threw it into the pit. Then he turned and began climbing back through the rubble, to where his group was resting. He caught Worm out of the corner of his eye as he did. The painted man was kneeling in the grass, looking down at a portion of the ground that had been torn up by a massive claw.

  A dragon, Spyne knew. A Shifter. He wasn't sure what it was doing here in Genesia, or how it had survived. He was sure Talon had something to do with its escape.

  "Worm, did you find something?" Spyne asked.

  The man looked up, and then put his palm flat against the earth. He looked out to where the grass had been burned away, to where it was obvious there had been a battle. The claw and scorch marks were concentrated there, the earth lain to waste. He pointed out towards a copse of trees some distance away.

  "Get on with it," Spyne said.

  Worm stood up and began moving along the earth, his body contorting. He leaned forward with his head out, then crouched low, and then ran ahead, hopping over Cain and racing out into the burned grass.

  He looked down, rocking and turning, his head shooting forward, his mouth opening and closing. He turned around and took a swordsman's position, crouched and ready. He played both parts of the battle, as though he had been there and seen it.

  He twisted and twirled, moves that Spyne recognized. Talon's moves. His style. His fight. He even gained the wounded limp in his step that he had claimed Talon would have. How Worm knew it, how he could recreate his actions as though he was there... Spyne wanted to ask. He knew he would never get an answer.

  The pantomime continued, so well executed that Spyne could almost picture the scene. He found himself wishing that the dragon had won the day.

  It seemed that it might have, because Worm came forward, mouth open, arms wide, leaping in towards the invisible Talon on the other side. He switched roles, becoming the General, sword raised in a weak defense.

  Then he stopped.

  There was no warning, no reason. One moment Worm was Talon, the next he wasn't. The painted Historian stood stiff and silent, as though the sudden change had even confused him. Then he turned and looked back at Spyne.

  "Well? What happened next?"

  Worm shrugged and dropped into a sitting position.

  "You don't know?"

  He didn't respond.

  Spyne felt the anger rising. "Historians, on your feet."

  They were completely spent, but they didn't question the order. The four remaining soldiers forced themselves to stand.

  "Explore the area, from here to the trees. Talon was here. We need to know which direction he fled in."

  They spread out evenly across the field and began slogging back towards the trees, their legs unsteady in the effort. Spyne and Worm followed behind them.

  "My Lord, have a look at this," Peyn said a short time later.

  They had passed through the trees at the edge of the clearing, following a set of deep footprints they had discovered in the undamaged earth further away. Footprints that Spyne knew had been made by a juggernaut. He found them curious at the time, because they appeared to be moving away from the tower in an odd gait. One of the feet was making a much deeper impression than the other, which also looked to be turned at a strange angle.

  When he caught up to Peyn within a smaller clearing, he understood.

  "He has a juggernaut?" Spyne whispered to himself, wondering how that could be so. He stared down at the dead creature, at its amputated ankle and the larger, bent foot that rested beside it.

  "A juggernaut, General?" Ollie said. His face was pale from the sight of the creature. "What is it?"

  "It is more than you need to know," Spyne said.

  "He was here, General," Peyn said. Spyne found his man kneeling over the grass, holding up a bar of red crystal. "These look just like yours."

  Spyne glanced down at the bars across his chest. "If he had his decoration, he must be wearing the blacks. Worm, do you know which way they went?"

  He pointed towards the slope, a few miles wide of where they had first descended. A path that would have led Talon and his juggernaut back to Varrow City.

  Where is your whore, Talon?

  They had found no sign of the Cursed girl. No footprints, no clues. Was she buried in the rubble somewhere?

  He looked back at Peyn, ready to give the order to move out. He saw the weariness on the man's face as if for the first time. He saw it on the others' as well.

  It made him angry. Hard men or not, they were still men. They needed to rest. To eat and sleep. It was getting dark in a hurry.

  "We'll rest here," Spyne said. "Two hours."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Talon

  "What are we going to tell the men?" Fehri asked. "They all saw me bring in Silas Morningstar."

  After the Overlord had made the decision to support Talon, he had explained to her that her jailers had already offered their loyalty, as had one of her captains. She had been shocked at how quickly he had rallied support from those who were assumed to be loyal, though the defections had highlighted just how fractured all of the Empire truly was. She had taken it upon herself to call Trock and his men down to the dungeon to dress them down for their treason, and then to force them to swear their loyalty anew in her presence.

  She joined them when they did.

  Now they were sitting around a small table that had been brought down to the dungeon. Talon, Caela, Fehri, and Trock were seated, while the other jailers and Oz stood behind them.

  "No," Talon said. "They saw you bring in a man with white hair and blue eyes who killed three of his soldiers, along with a large accomplice." He looked over at Caela. "The Overlord will tell them that the man who was captured was not Silas Morningstar, and that he will be hanged in the morning for the murder of their comrades. Unfortunately, the large one was killed trying to escape. Fehri, you will help her spread the word."

  "As you command, General," Fehri said.

  "Hanged?" Trock said. "How are you going to pull that off?"

  "I have two hearts," Talon said. "If one of them is stopped, the other will bring me back again."

  Trock's face paled. "Two hearts?"

  If the Overlord was surprised, she didn't show it. "Once you're dead, Captain Fehri can take your body to a potter's grave outside the city. When you wake up, he will escort you to wherever Eryn is waiting, and help you secret her back here."

  "It is pleased to follow First of Nine," Oz said.

  "No, Oz," Talon replied. "Not this time. You have to stay here. That is an order."

  The juggernaut launched a puff of steam to express its dissatisfaction.

  "Caela, what of the other Generals?" Talon asked. "I overheard a Mediator say that Thornn has been sent to chase the dragon."

  "Dragon?" Trock asked.

  "The name of the creature that attacked Tibbleton," Talon said.

  "He doesn't share the placement of his Generals with me," the Overlord replied. "My orders were to assist them in any way necessary. I helped General Clau catch up to you." She said it as a statement, not an apology.

  "He did catch up to me. And I caught up to him. I tried to convince him of the truth, but his hold over him was too strong."

  "We must be very cautious about all of this," Caela said. "I have the power of my station, but it will mean nothing if word gets out that I am offering succor to the rebellion. I know some of you have families. You understand the harm you can cause with a loose tongue."

  "Aye," Wallace said from his place behind Trock. "We do, my Lady. If you don't mind my asking, my Lady, how come you're helping the General?"

  She turned her attention to Talon, studying the intensity of his face. He certainly looked like a hawk at the moment, though he appeared to be molting. "I too served the General. Many years ago."

  "My Lady," Trock said. "You look half my age."<
br />
  "Overlords don't age like you do," Talon said.

  "It's because I'm Cursed," Caela replied.

  "Cursed?" Trock pushed his chair back instinctively. "My... My Lady. I don't understand."

  "It is a wizard," Oz said.

  Talon got to his feet. "The Mediators are Cursed. All of them. The Overlords are the most powerful of the Mediators. He can cure them, instead of killing them. He chooses not to."

  "My niece was Cursed," one of the jailers, Lucent, said. "You're saying she didn't have to die?"

  "Yes."

  "Heden take him," Lucent muttered.

  "I doubt even Heden wants him," Talon said. "Caela, let us set this plan in motion. Eryn's life depends on our haste."

  "Yes, General." The Overlord stood and gave him a slight bow, which he returned. She spun and swept from the room, leaving a momentary silence behind her.

  "Can't believe I'm conspiring against the Empire with the Overlord," Trock said. "Guess I shouldn't have been asking Amman for a little more excitement in my life."

  "That will teach you to be careful what you pray for," Fehri said. "General, by your leave. I will go and spread the news of our case of mistaken identity."

  "Of course. Fehri, one more thing?"

  "Yes, General?"

  "Can you get Oz's sword back, and make sure any comments about its size are taken as exaggeration?"

  Fehri laughed and bowed. "As you say."

  Talon turned to Trock, running his hand over the irregular clumps of hair. "Commander, can you please get me a razor?"

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Talon

  "Are you ready, General?" Trock asked.

  "As ready as I can be," Talon replied, shifting his wrists beneath the manacles that bound them.

  Three hours had passed since the Overlord had left them. Three hours to organize a public hanging of the murderer who killed three of his soldiers in cold blood. The murderer who most definitely was not Silas Morningstar.

  His head was bald now, his face shaved and clean. They had changed him into prisoner's clothes - a simple stained linen tunic, pants, and sandals. They had bound his hands and feet in chains. Trock had punched him in the jaw for good measure, leaving a nice welt and a split lip.

  "Crowd is huge," Bryant said. "I don't think word got out that you aren't you, my Lord."

  "I think they're just eager to see someone hung. It's been a while since anyone dared kill a soldier inside the city," Trock said. He picked up a burlap sack from the table. "Just one more thing to do, General."

  "Do it," Talon said.

  Trock took the sack and put it over Talon's head, leaving him in near darkness. He felt the rope slip around his neck, tying the sack closed. They would take it off once he was on the dais, too far from the soldiers or the commoners for the truth to be easily recognized or understood. In the meantime, it was suffocating inside, making breathing a challenge of its own.

  "You sure you're going to live through this, General?" Trock asked.

  "Not completely," he replied. If the damage were too severe, not even his ebocite heart could save him. What choice did he have?

  "May Amman be with you then, my Lord," Trock said. "Bryant, open the door."

  A path had been made from the dungeon to the back of the courtyard, where a dais had been hastily installed, complete with a hangman's noose. It wasn't a long journey between the two points when it moved in a straight line, but the route had been made serpentine to allow more time for the gathered crowds to harass Talon with insults, and get out their frustration over the men Oz had killed. That the people were being controlled by soldiers who would have liked to join them, or see justice done themselves, made the walk even more dangerous.

  "We have your back, General," Wallace said, taking position to Talon's left. The jailers were responsible for getting him there safely.

  "Here we go," Trock said. Talon could hear the door whine when it swung open, and a roar go up from the crowd as he was brought out into the morning air. From the sound of it, nearly all of Varrow had come for the occasion.

  "Filthy son of Heden!"

  It was the first thing Talon heard, and it came from his right. Close. Too close. He heard the sound of metal on metal, and then a gurgle.

  "Soldier tried to knife you," Trock said at his back. "Sous cut him down."

  They moved out along the path, the jailers guiding his steps. The yelling was too loud for him to make out specific insults from among the crowd, though as they approached the dais he was surprised to hear his name more than once.

  "Get back," Wallace said. "Get back you lot."

  "More soldiers," Trock said. "Supposed to be protecting you so you can hang, not trying to kill you themselves." He felt the Commander brush past him. "Move aside, by order of the Overlord."

  "We want justice for our brothers."

  "What better justice than through the noose? You're looking for glory, and you'll have none of it here. Move back, or I'll move you back."

  They came to a stop, waiting. Talon wished he could see through the bag over his head, to witness the confrontation. Trock was old, but his experience with a blade was borne out with years in the field. His threats weren't idle.

  The soldiers didn't make another sound, and they started moving again without blood being spilled. The cries and shouts rose in pitch around him, more and more beginning to chant his name.

  "Silas! Silas!"

  He felt a rush of air, and Bryant cursed next to him. A louder shout went up through the crowd, and then Trock was pressed against him again.

  "We have a problem," the jailer said.

  "Silas!"

  The cries were gaining in number, growing louder. Talon heard grunting, and then screaming. Something heavy hit him in the shoulder. The soldiers lining the route began to scream.

  "Get back! Get back!"

  "Silas!"

  The screaming continued, the atmosphere inside the courtyard changing. He could hear fighting all around him, feel the press of the jailers trying to protect him.

  "What's happening?" he shouted.

  "A revolt," Trock said. "Crowd is at each other's throats. They're trying to free you. More soldiers are coming in."

  "Fools," Talon said. They were going to die for nothing.

  "Silas!"

  They kept moving forward, reaching the dais as the screaming intensified around them. He heard the thwip of bowstrings now, followed by cries from the gathered crowd. The soldiers were firing down at the sympathizers in the masses, each release taking one more voice out of the group.

  "Silas! Silas!"

  Still it continued, even as they climbed the nine steps to the top of the platform. The noise was deafening, the sack suffocating. Something else hit his arm, something sharp enough to cut into his skin. He wondered how many objects had hit his escorts instead.

  "Enough!"

  Enough!

  The voice rang out in Talon's mind, and through the air. It echoed through the courtyard, across all of the city, with a power that shocked both sympathizers and loyalists to silence. Everything froze around them, all of the energy draining from the mob in an instant.

  "Thank Amman for that," Trock said. "Overlord is coming out."

  She had used her Curse, but not in such a way that the crowd would understand it was her. A murmur traveled the masses, even as he could hear the rustle of her skirts against the steps up the dais.

  "Traitors to the Empire will be quick to join this murderer in the noose," the Overlord said loudly, her voice carrying across the masses with the force of her Curse. The people remained silent, gelded by her mere presence.

  He smelled her perfume as she came to stand beside him.

  "Commander, remove the hood," she said.

  He felt Trock's hands pulling at the ropes around his neck. He was grateful when the sack was pulled away and he could breathe again. He took a deep pull of the air and looked out at the crowd. It was as large as he had guessed, the front r
ows filled with nothing but soldiers in their dark uniforms and armor. There was only room for the people near the back, a small crowd that had at some point tried to surge forward, and had been met with harsh resistance. From his raised position, he could see a number of men and women on the ground. Some were bloody.

  Some were dead.

  So much violence over him. The whole of the Empire was ready to explode.

  Caela stepped up to him, taking his chin in her hand and turning his face to hers, making a point to look a killer in the eye. She winked at him on the left side, and then slapped him hard with her right hand. She turned to face the crowd again.

  "This man was captured immediately after murdering three of the city soldiers during their routine patrols, along with an accomplice who was killed trying to escape. There was a rumor started that this man is Silas Morningstar, but I assure you on his name, this is not the Liar. The man you see standing here is nothing more than a killer who is being punished for his crime as an example to any who would lay hands on loyal servants of the Empire." She moved back and motioned for Trock to take him to the noose. Then she stepped forward to the front of the dais. "I will not have bloodshed and chaos in my city."

  The crowd remained silent and tense. Even those who supported Silas Morningstar now knew they couldn't fight back against the sheer volume of soldiers assembled at the palace. There was nothing they could do but watch.

  "To the noose," Wallace said in Talon's ear, taking his shoulders and leading him over.

  Talon clanged and clinked across the dais to where Trock was waiting with the rope. When he arrived, Wallace knelt down and freed him of the chains. Trock took the noose and placed it around his neck, cinching it up tight. The Overlord approached him again, holding out a golden chalice filled with wine.