His Ancient Heart

by M. R. Forbes

  Murderer.

  The word pulsed against his thoughts, each repetition charging the anger that he felt at what was happening, focusing him on getting through the line and into the building. The soldiers recovered, getting their blades up to challenge, crowding in around him. He heard more than one whisper, "the Liar," as he ripped into them, his reflexes automatic from his millennia of training and experience.

  A crack of energy behind him almost caused him to lose that focus. It was followed by a second, and he could feel the heat on his back and see the change in the air around him, growing even brighter than the sun that shone down. He knew the Mediator had appeared, and that Wilem was taking him on. He paused his approach to the bakery, turning himself around. He needed to keep the soldiers from going after the boy. It wouldn't help to save one Cursed just to lose another.

  He saw Wilem down the street, his head tilted in concentration, his hands out to his sides. The Mediator was on the opposite end, not far from him. An older man in his black robes, a staff in hand, the tip of which was glowing brightly and sending arcs of white energy towards Wilem. The energy was falling away before it reached him, blocked by some invisible barrier.

  A shrinking invisible barrier.

  Wilem was strong, but without a crystal to help amplify his magic he wouldn't be able to stand up to the Mediator. Talon gritted his teeth and surged through the remaining soldiers, sinking one blade through a throat while the other parried a thrust. He dropped low, bringing the hilt up and into the nose of another, shifting and backing away from a slash.

  Three of the soldiers broke away, headed towards Wilem. The energy was closing in on him, the barrier down to less than a dozen feet. Talon heard a scream from behind him, from inside the bakery. A young girl, her voice full of fear.

  He shouted then, an angry, echoing roar that froze his opponents, and even got enough of the Mediator's attention to give Wilem some of his protection back. He planted his blade into a soldier's chest, using his anger to bury it despite the armor. Then he reached out and grabbed one of the soldiers by the arm, pushing and turning, throwing him against another and sending them both to the ground. He sank the second blade into another soldier, and then took the dagger Fehri had given him and hurled it at the Mediator.

  It was a long throw, a hundred feet or more. It wasn't a throwing blade. It didn't matter. He was the Champion of Ares'Nor. He was one of the oldest warriors in the Empire. The blade caught the Mediator hard in the shoulder, sinking to the hilt and forcing the man to drop the staff.

  His magic broken, Wilem's energy surged forward, sending a burst of power that knocked the Mediator off his feet, blowing him backwards into the building behind him. Talon could hear the crack of the man's spine mix with the crack of the wood he crashed into.

  "Wilem," he shouted, warning the wizard of the incoming soldiers. He heard a whistle behind him as he did, and he ducked and spun, catching the stroke in his hands, stopping the momentum, lifting it back away and shoving the soldier to the ground. He heard screams behind him, and by the time he turned again the three soldiers were all on the ground. Wilem dropped to a knee.

  There was no time to check on him. Talon spun back towards the bakery once more. In front of him was a sea of soldiers, either dead on the ground or laying prostrate in surrender. The boy was still standing at the front of them, looking back at Talon, the moisture visible on his cheeks. Talon took another breath and charged ahead, rushing past the boy and into the burning building.

  The smoke was thick, the heat was intense. The third floor had already collapsed to the second, and by the creaking and moaning of the supports he knew the rest of the building could go at any time. How would he find her in this? How would he save her?

  His eyes landed on an open door, and a set of stairs leading down. Flames licked at the wood, but he forced himself through, the fire burning and blistering his skin as he passed.

  He reached the bottom, a cool basement filled with sacks of grain, a butter churn, and other tools of the trade. The air was a little clearer here but still thick.

  "Where are you?" Talon said. He paused to listen for a reply, but there was none.

  Murderer.

  He moved across the floor. The only light was coming from the flames, and it danced and moved, giving him glimpses at a time, making it hard to find whatever body went with the young voice he had heard. He coughed a couple of times, choking on the smoke, and crouched lower to get more clean air.

  He found her behind a sealed barrel. Her back was pressed against the wall, her head was drooped down to her chest. A small wooden horse rested in her lap. He knelt down in front of her. "All will be well, my dear," he said, putting his hand under her chin and lifting gently.

  Her eyes were big, and blue like his.

  There was no life in them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Talon

  Talon emerged from the bakery, cradling the dead girl's body in his arms. He was covered in soot and ash, his clothes in burned tatters, his body dark and bleeding beneath it. He was wounded, but he didn't feel it. All he felt was the anger.

  Wilem was standing with the boy, having pulled him back away from the fire, away from the corpses and carnage. Two soldiers were on their knees behind him, having surrendered from the fight.

  "I'm sorry," Wilem said. He could tell by Talon's expression that the girl hadn't made it.

  Talon nodded and looked over to the boy. "Is this your sister?"

  The boy looked up at him. "Yes, my Lord."

  A tear traced its way through the soot on Talon's face. "Do you have any kin left in town?"

  "Uncle Firth. He owns the tender house two blocks down. Is she dead?"

  "Yes. I'm sorry. What is your name?"

  "Dolan, my Lord."

  "Dolan. A strong name. I'm-"

  "I know who you are, my Lord," Dolan said. "Silas Morningstar. The Liar." He smiled. "The one who saves the Cursed. I always thought the Whore was a girl."

  The one who saves the Cursed... I was too late to save this one.

  "There is no Whore," Talon said. "Only my friends. And my true name is Talon Rast. Can you remember that?"

  Dolan nodded.

  "Good. If any other soldiers come here, make sure you tell them that. General Talon Rast."

  Talon walked past the boy, still holding his sister in his arms. He approached the two soldiers, who had their heads down, their eyes on the ground.

  "He'll kill you for surrendering," Talon said.

  One of the men looked up. He was older, with a round face and a flat nose. "Will you, my Lord?"

  Talon dropped to his knees in front of the man. "Look at me. Both of you."

  The other man looked up. He was younger, with brown hair and dark eyes.

  Talon held the girl out to them. "This is what you are fighting for. She's nothing but a child."

  "She was Cursed, my Lord," the older soldier said. "Dangerous."

  "The only thing dangerous about her was your ignorance towards the Cursed. Do either of you have children?"

  "I do, my Lord. A daughter. She's about that age." The way his face changed as he said it, it was as though he'd realized what he had done for the very first time. "That one seems a bit young to be Cursed."

  Talon looked down at her. She was eight or nine, with porcelain skin, her mouth missing a few teeth. "She does, doesn't she?"

  She might have been more powerful than Eryn. We'll never know.

  "What are you going to do with us, Silas?" the younger soldier said. He was frightened, and still more defiant.

  "It's Rast. General Talon Rast. I'm going to tell you something. You can believe it or not, I don't care. I'll decide after that." He paused for a few moments while they gave him their full attention. "There is a cure to the Curse. He has it, and yet he is afraid to give it to his people. He is afraid that if he does, they will have the power to question his control. This girl in my arms died for nothing. Do you understand? Her family and thos
e soldiers behind me. The Mediator. They all died for nothing."

  He had to fight to control the seething anger, to keep himself from screaming in rage. He watched the two soldiers, paying close attention to their reaction.

  "My Lord," the older one said. "I..." He fell silent. His head dropped again, and he stared at the ground.

  The younger one continued to look on him, though he didn't speak. There was no remorse in his eyes. No compassion. No belief or understanding. He had done his duty until he had decided to surrender, and he was proud of himself for that.

  "What is your name?" Talon asked the older soldier.

  "Breyan, my Lord."

  "Breyan. Take the girl." He held her out. The soldier stood up and reached out, taking her and holding her as if she were still alive. He looked down at her with tears in his eyes. "You're going to bring her to her uncle with me. After that, you're free to go, though I suggest finding a new home for your family, wherever they are."

  "Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord."

  Talon turned to the other one. "As for you-"

  He knew what Talon was going to do. He got to his feet, reaching for his sword.

  It was Breyan who kicked him in the knee, breaking his leg and sending him back to the ground. He clutched the girl in one arm while he drew his sword and held it out to Talon.

  He took it and put it to use.

  "Follow me," he said to Breyan, dropping the sword in the dirt.

  Wilem had gone to search the Mediator while Talon dealt with the soldiers, and he returned with a red eye clasp in one hand, and the Mediator's staff in the other. Dolan was trailing behind him.

  "He wasn't carrying a blade," Wilem said.

  "How are you feeling?"

  Wilem shrugged. "Well enough. He wasn't that powerful. If I'd had the staff before the fight, there wouldn't have been a standoff."

  "You knew him," Talon said.

  "You read faces as well as you fight, General. He was a teacher at the Academy. I almost had a run in with him a few days ago, near the cave. Eryn was sleeping, but when he used his magic, she woke up. She wanted to attack him." He paused, unsure if he should say the rest. "I think she wanted to eat him."

  Not him. His magic. The prozoa.

  "He tried to ambush you."

  "He felt my power when I used it on the guard. I could hear him taunting the girl. Like I said, he wasn't that powerful. I was considered quite gifted at the Academy, which is why I was assigned to General Clau." His face reddened when he realized he was boasting. "Not powerful like Eryn. I've never seen anything like that. I can't handle a distortion field."

  "Dolan, can you take us to your uncle's inn?"

  "Yes, my Lord. It's not an inn, it's a tender house. My da always said it's like a whorehouse, but cleaner." His face darkened. His mind hadn't yet accepted that his father was dead.

  Talon smiled at that. "The tender house, then."

  Dolan led them the two blocks down, even as the townspeople began to filter out of the stores and their homes. They kept their distance from them, their eyes glued to every step Talon took. Once he was out of sight, he expected they would pillage whatever coin and valuables the dead soldiers might have been carrying.

  "This is it," Dolan said, stopping them in front of a run-down red building with faded white shutters. A white door with a small heart painted on it was the only indication it was a place of business. "Uncle Firth," Dolan shouted. "It's me, Dolan."

  Talon could hear the sound of feet inside, and then the door opened. A young woman appeared in the frame, her eyes red from crying. "Dolan?" she said. She knelt down, and the boy ran up to her.

  "Meena. The soldiers killed ma and da, and Kylie. They said she had the Curse." He pointed back at Talon. "Silas... the Li... General Talon Rast killed them. All of them."

  "Not all," Breyan said, stepping forward with Kylie in his arms and tears in his eyes.

  A large, round man joined the girl, Meena, at the door. He had a bushy beard and small eyes, and was wearing finery normally reserved for the wealthy. When he saw Kylie, he leaned against the doorway and began to bawl.

  "I'm sorry," Breyan said, handing Kylie over to Meena.

  "You're sorry?" Firth said, lifting his head from his hands. "You're sorry? My sister... her children..." The big man took a few steps towards Breyan, drawing back his hand and slamming it into the soldier's face. Breyan was trained, and could have stopped the blow. He didn't even try.

  "One is enough," Talon said when Firth drew back to punch him again. The man looked at Talon and stopped.

  "Thank you," he said. "For trying. If you need anything..."

  "I do," Talon said. "Enough food for two to eat for a week."

  "Meena, you heard the.. General, did you say?"

  "General Talon Rast. Like soldier Breyan here, I've made my share of mistakes."

  "Meena, be a good lass. Leave Kylie here, and go and make a pack for the General. Head over to Wright's if you need more of anything. Tell him I'll settle after we bury the dead."

  Meena gave Dolan another hug and vanished back into the house.

  "I've got other girls, too, if you want to relax for a while. You can bed them or not, either way they're real good company, great at rubbing out tense muscles."

  Wilem's face turned red at the suggestion.

  "No, thank you," Talon said. "I'm going over to the Constable's office, and then I'll come back for the food."

  "As you wish, my Lord." Firth leaned down and put his arm around Dolan. "Come, my boy. You can help Sissa prepare dinner. You're my boy now, you understand?"

  "Yes, Uncle."

  Firth rubbed the top of his head. "Seven daughters, I have. Thought I would never get a son. Of course, this isn't the way I wanted to do it." His eyes went back to Kylie's body. "They say the Cursed have destroyed entire cities. That true?"

  Talon shook his head. "No."

  Firth nodded, picked up the dead girl, and carried her inside.

  "Breyan, you're free to go," Talon said, turning to the soldier. He had a nice red welt across his face from Firth's fist.

  "No, my Lord."

  "No?"

  "I'd like to ride with you, if I might."

  Talon considered for a moment, and then shook his head. The man may have been remorseful right now. That didn't make him trustworthy enough to bring to Edgewater. "I'm sorry."

  "I understand. In that case, I'll stay here for the night and help them bury the dead if they'll have me. Fare well, my Lord."

  Breyan started walking back towards the bakery. Talon could see that most of the town was gathering there, and doing their best not to stare at him.

  "What now?" Wilem asked.

  "We'll get some supplies from the Constable's office. Weapons, horses. Then we ride for Edgewater."

  "I killed a Cursed, once," Wilem said, casting his eyes down. "Not long before I met Eryn. I never gave it a second thought."

  "You're hardly the only one, my boy. Let our trespasses die with the past. There is too much at stake to carry them with us."

  Wilem nodded, the words seeming to bring him some measure of comfort. Even though he had spoken them, to Talon they were hollow.

  Murderer.

  II. DEATH

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Eryn

  The first time Eryn had entered Varrow City, it had been with leaves bundled under her skirts to make her look pregnant, on the back of a mule that Talon was leading, while carrying a huge bag of manure on his shoulder. They had waited for hours to get through the gates, only to be confronted by a merchant, who turned out to be a stronger ally than they could have expected.

  The second time Eryn entered Varrow, she would do so through a special entrance reserved for soldiers and the upper-class of nobles, the favored of the Empire. She was escorted by one of the Captains of the Varrow City guard on her left and a Commander of the palace guard on her right. She rode a white Portnis stallion, and she was clothed in a rich, dark violet gown wit
h a low neckline and high collar. An ircidium necklace holding a large red crystal pendant rested between her breasts. She wore the finest and softest black calf leather boots on her feet, and her hair had been washed, cut, braided, and held back by a small tiara with a clear gem at its head.

  She looked like a princess.

  She felt like a fool.

  She was also more nervous than she had expected. She trusted Talon when he said he trusted the Overlord. Even so, she was riding right into the gaping mouth of the only thing that might be more dangerous than the creature that had taken her in Genesia, and she had no protection at all.

  Don't be foolish. You have yourself.

  She rubbed at one gloved hand with the other. The gloves matched her boots, the softest leather she had ever felt. They went from her fingertips to just above the elbow, leaving only two inches of exposed skin between them and the short sleeve of the gown. It was a good thing, because the scaly skin of the Shifters was spreading again.

  Slowly, as long as she didn't use her magic. That didn't mean she couldn't or wouldn't use it if she had to. If there was no other choice.

  They trotted up to a small steel gate. There was an entire squad of guards here, half on the ground inside a small gatehouse, and the other half on the wall above, the tips of their longbows visible over the parapets. Their looks were more of surprise and awe than anything else. Fehri had stuttered and stumbled to find words when Eryn had emerged from her room wearing the gown. It seemed his opinion was a common one.

  "Sergeant Olms," Fehri said, bringing the horses to a stop.

  "Cap'n Fehri, my Lord." The sergeant bowed to him, despite the fact that he was at least twice his age.

  "Commander Trock and I are returning from overseeing the Overlord's interests out of the city. This is the Lady Valerie, the Overlord's niece. She will be staying in the palace with the Overlord for some time, learning to manage the affairs of the province. If she has need of you, you are instructed to provide whatever assistance you can, on order of the Overlord."