by M. R. Forbes
When Talon wasn't killing them first.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and swept past the guards stationed there, drawing surprised knees from them as he passed. He received a surprise of his own, finding Worm already waiting for him, holding his sword belt over his shoulder.
"You knew I was coming?" Spyne said. He hadn't sent a signal to them ahead of time.
Worm held out his sword. He took it and strapped it to his waist, closing his eyes as he ran his hand along the top of the hilt.
"How did you know?"
Worm was silent. His eyes were flat, more emotionless than he could remember them ever having been. Spyne hadn't seen much of the man in the days since the Whore had escaped, but he was certain the event had changed the Historian somehow.
The Whore's Curse didn't knock him down. Had it hurt him in some other way?
"Where is Peyn?"
Worm pointed in the direction of the barracks. Spyne headed that way at a fast walk, the tattooed man trailing behind him.
Spyne found Peyn not in the barracks, but in the courtyard, running a company of soldiers through drills. His voice was harsh and loud, and he screamed and cursed at the men as he walked the line of them, watching them spar. The ground beneath them was still black from the Whore's fire.
"Get your elbow up, you sorry excuse for a man," he shouted. "You! Knees bent, sword lower. You want to get run through? You! I bet your dead mother fights better than you."
"Captain Peyn," Spyne roared, getting the man's attention. Peyn turned and dropped to his knee.
"General."
"We leave in an hour. Are any of these men worthy?" He motioned for Peyn to stand.
"Two hundred men, General. There are ten that I would trust to hold a sword next to me."
"Make sure they are properly outfitted. Ircidium blades and chain. You and Ollie, as well."
Peyn bowed. "As you command, General. Your timing is impeccable."
Spyne furrowed his brow and glared at the Captain. "How do you mean that?"
Peyn's face paled. "My apologies, General. I only meant that we received a report not four hours past from a soldier, badly burned. The Whore was spotted with the... juggernaut, was it?"
Spyne nodded.
"With the juggernaut, forty miles east of the city. The soldier was part of Colonel Wolm's company." He paused and bit his lip.
"What is it?" Spyne said, angry.
"She burned them, General. All of them. There were no survivors."
He nodded, not surprised. Without a Mediator, or at the very least ircidium weaponry, the soldiers were sure to be slaughtered. Even with ircidium, he doubted any of those men could have held their own against the juggernaut. Not without a juggernaut of their own, or at least one of the Nine.
"You said no survivors. What of the rider?"
"He died of his wounds an hour ago."
"Where are they headed?"
"They appear to be making for Elling."
"Elling? Why? Talon is to the north, and Elling is dust."
Peyn didn't answer.
"Go, pick your men and arm them. Pass word to Ollie." Spyne turned to Worm. "You can track her Curse, yes?"
Worm nodded.
"Good. The destruction of the juggernaut is his primary concern. Let us not fail in this."
A creature of magic and metal, and the first model, no less. Why is it so important to him?
CHAPTER FIFTY
Talon
"You're sure this is the place?" Talon asked.
"I know what I heard," Delia said. "The voice, his voice. It made my skin crawl every time that orb started spinning."
They had left Fulton three days ago, using Talon's hastily constructed raft to travel upstream against the flow of the river. The raft was well-made despite its crude materials, and Talon was able to row for hours without tiring. It allowed them to travel nearly thirty miles west and another ten north, first on the Gorge River and then on a smaller, calmer tributary which brought them into Edgewater Province. From there, they had gone on foot for another twenty miles until they had reached Gilspie, a medium-sized town nearly eighty miles from Edgewater City.
Delia swore she had heard him speaking to Overlord Olmas of Edgewater, warning him of Talon's imminent arrival and ordering him to send an envoy of Mediators and a squad of the Overguard to rendezvous with the Carriers in Gilspie. He didn't want the Carriers coming to Edgewater, not when Talon would be there. Once the envoys had collected the cure, they would travel from the town to the provinces that had need of it, bypassing Edgewater completely.
It was clear to Talon that he knew exactly what his objective was, and there were signs that he was concerned he might actually achieve it. Talon took it as good news.
Delia had also told him that the farspeak stone had spun a second time only minutes after the first. General Naille had been ordered to return from Evergreen, and other troops had been put on the move to ensure that if Talon entered Edgewater City, he would never leave it alive.
Except, I'm one step ahead of you. Not that your plan to capture me in Edgewater would have succeeded. I'm the Champion of Ares'Nor, and General Naille is no match for me.
They had arrived in Gilspie an hour ago, on the day the envoy was scheduled to arrive. They were fortunate, because Delia held papers that allowed her to enter tax-free. Between her legitimacy and the fact that the soldiers believed Talon was going to Edgewater, it made getting behind the stone walls of the town a simple affair. They had visited a clothier from there, exchanging their soiled traveling clothes for something of higher quality and more suitable to merchants. It didn't slip Talon's or Wilem's attention that Delia held a preference for things that exposed a lot of skin. "A wise merchant uses every asset," she had said. "Dal always said it was the same for a victorious warrior."
"How are we going to know who they are?" Delia asked. "Or if they're still here?"
"They must have sent Mediators from the Academy," Wilem said. "All we need to do is find them, and I'll know them."
They were walking the wide, cobbled thoroughfare that cut through the center of the town and wrapped around the constable's office. It was the busiest part of the town, and the population was thick enough to make it possible that the exchange would be made, and their opportunity wasted before they discovered the envoy.
"Carriers are bound to draw whispers," Talon said.
"What do they look like?" Delia asked.
"They wear full ircidium armor that shines like a mirror, including full helms that hide their entire face. They ride the largest and heartiest of the Empire's stock of destriers, which are also armored in ircidium. They're terrifying." Wilem shuddered at the thought. "I was only close to one of them a single time, and it was more than enough. The rumor at the Academy is that they are special Mediators who excelled with the sword. If they're meeting here, it may be that they pass through the town all of the time. I think the townsfolk would be accustomed to it."
"And yet word has never reached the other provinces of their existence?" Talon asked. "Surely soldiers like that would start rumors with minstrels if no one else."
"A secret meeting place, then?" Wilem said. "Somewhere outside of town? Either way, the Mediators would have to be here ahead of time, to make the rendezvous the moment the Carriers arrived."
They paused at each inn and tavern they passed. Wilem would duck inside with the hood of his cloak pulled up around his face and surveyed the room, while Talon and Delia waited out front, watching for anything out of the ordinary.
Three hours saw evening arriving, and most of the town searched. They had even visited a secret guild house, marked by a bucket of water near the door, and gone down into the tunnels that ran below the town. Either the envoy wasn't there, they were well hidden or Delia had been wrong.
"I heard him say Gilspie," Delia said. They had settled on the steps of a bakery, near the western corner of the town. It was off the main road, on a dusty back path that led into a less sav
ory part of town.
"It isn't your fault, my dear," Talon said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. The three days together had shown him that Curio's daughter was nothing like Curio. In fact, she reminded him of Eryn.
"I led you here. It is my fault."
"We can still find them," Wilem said. "The day isn't over yet."
"How?"
They fell silent.
"He sent Mediators," Talon said at last. "Wilem, how many teach at the Academy?"
"Twelve."
"Eleven now. You killed one of them in Doovan."
"Master Canlin, yes. Why?"
"How many can Overlord Olmas send, and still be able to run the Academy?"
Wilem thought for a moment. "Three, at most."
Talon rubbed his chin, rough from a few days' growth. "If one had left to join the search for us, does it stand to reason that four would have? One is certainly an odd number to dispose, and two wouldn't be enough to distribute the cure to the provinces."
"I think that's a safe assumption," Delia said, nodding along with Talon's remarks. She knelt down and scratched a few lines in the dirt."I'm familiar with all of the trade routes throughout the Empire. Even though our business was mainly transport through the Gorges, we still had to know them all, in order to charge merchants based on their need and desperation. Even if they used a minimum of routes to reach all thirty provinces, they would need at least six groups to do so in a reasonable amount of time." She scratched out lines from Edgewater that looked like the branches of a tree.
"Even if you cut that number in half, that is still more Mediators than they likely have to spare," Talon said.
"Unless he shuttered the Academy," Wilem said.
Talon sighed. "That is possible, but considering our current failure, let's assume it isn't the case. Discounting the Overlord and the Mediators who teach at the Academy, who else might have been sent to retrieve the cure?"
Wilem thought about it for a moment. Then a smile grew across his face. "It would have to be students. They wouldn't have finished their training yet. They may have been rushed because of you."
"Would you recognize them if you saw them?"
"Of course." He shook his head. "I was looking for the teachers that I knew, not the students. If they were disguised at all, or facing away from me, I wouldn't have noticed."
Talon got to his feet. "It's a lot of conjecture, but we have to try. If we miss this opportunity, we may never get another one."
"Where do we start?" Delia said.
"We don't," Wilem said, growing excited. "We don't have to go anywhere."
"You have an idea, my boy?" Talon asked.
"Yes. Mediators can talk to one another through the magic. It isn't secret, it can be heard by any other Cursed nearby. We use it..." He paused, unsure if he should continue. His voice lowered. "We use it to frighten the Cursed when they run." He paused, his face turning dark from his confession. "At the Academy, we had a few different code words that we would say, late at night when we hoped the Masters were asleep, mainly so we could meet and leave the Academy grounds. If they sent students, I can call out to them. If even one responds, I'll sense their magic."
"They'll sense yours," Talon said.
"Yes, but they may just think I'm one of them. You're supposed to be headed to Edgewater after all, and as far as anyone in the Empire knows, I'm already dead."
Talon clapped Wilem on the shoulder. "Brilliant. Do it."
"I already did," Wilem said. "Follow me. The Mediator's name is Terryl."
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Talon
They moved back through the streets of Gilspie, onto the main thoroughfare and across to one of the smaller districts to the north. They walked quickly, a set in their step and their eyes that told the other townsfolk to stay clear of their path, because their business was rather important.
They wound up at another block of housing, rows of apartments rising four stories above coopers and bakeries, a haberdasher and a seamstress. The cobbles had trailed off a few blocks earlier, leaving them walking on less expensive brick.
"Up there," Wilem said, pointing to a window on the third floor.
"That's very precise," Talon said, impressed with the Mediator.
"I told you I was gifted." Wilem looked over at Delia as he said it, and then at the ground, embarrassed.
"Delia, wait down here in case he tries to escape. Keep a lookout for anyone suspicious."
"Like men in ircidium armor?" she asked.
"Especially that. Wilem, with me."
Delia moved to the front of the building, positioning herself on the ground with her knees pulled up to her chest, bathing herself in shadow. Despite her clothing, she somehow managed to give herself the appearance of a street urchin through body language alone.
"She doesn't act like a merchant's daughter," Wilem said as they moved into the building. The inside stairwell of the apartment was cramped and musty, a track of dirt caused by muddy boots running from the doorway to the first set of stairs.
Delia had already told them a great deal about her relationship with Dal during their trip up the river. The so-called 'savage' had allowed himself and his partner, Abeleth, to be sold in exchange for the ebocite. They both became a part of Curio's collection, but also new deckhands and a gift to his then six year-old daughter. The man was an alien to more civilized ways, but he had his own unique education which he had passed down to her, always treating her like he was a doting grandfather instead of a prisoner. He was happy with Curio, she insisted, and happy to have helped his community.
Talon was still upset that he had forgotten to ask Curio what the islanders wanted the ebocite for.
"Still taken with her?" Talon asked as they climbed.
"What?" He sighed. "More than before. I don't mean to be. I love Eryn; it's just..."
"You're a young man, traveling with a beautiful girl, and she's miles away."
"Yes. That exactly."
"I don't know how long it has been since I saw Alyssa last. Ten years? A thousand? She is still the only one I think of."
Wilem opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.
"All I ask is that you are honest, my boy. With yourself. With me. With Eryn when we see her again. If you use the word love again, if you promise yourself to her, make sure you mean it."
"Yes, my Lord," Wilem said.
They reached the second floor and walked halfway down a narrow hallway. They pulled up at a plain door, and Talon put his ear to it. He could hear the thump of a cup against a table, a satisfied belch.
"You're sure this is the place?" Talon asked again.
"Yes."
"Get ready."
Wilem shifted his staff, letting the blanket that wrapped it fall to the floor. "I'm ready."
"Don't use it unless you must."
Talon pulled his dagger from his belt and put his shoulder to the door. He listened again, making sure they hadn't been discovered. His heart began to pulse rhythmically as he fell into a state of calm.
One more breath.
He shoved against the door, pushing so hard that it swung on its hinges and then cracked and fell off of them. It had barely hit the ground when Talon was in the room, his eyes charting a course past a sofa and over to the table where Terryl sat.
The Mediator was frozen in surprise, and Talon was across the room before he recovered, his arm latching onto the man's shoulder and ripping him to his feet, the knife pressed against his neck.
"Hello, Terryl," Wilem said, making his way into the room with the staff held out towards the Mediator. "Thank you for answering my call."
Terryl was motionless in Talon's grasp. "W... Wilem? You... You're helping the Liar?"
"My name is General Talon Rast," Talon whispered into his ear. "I know why you're here. Where are the others?"
"Others?"
Talon moved the knife away, shifting his weight and shoving the Mediator back into his chair. He pulled it away fro
m the table and circled around in front of Terryl. "The Carriers. Where are you to meet them?"
"I... I don't know what you mean. I..." He struggled to think of a suitable lie.
A whistle like a bird call rose from the street. Talon ran to the window and looked out in time to see a squad of soldiers heading towards the building. They were wearing standard issue blacks. but he could tell by their build and the way they moved that they were armored underneath, in what he guessed was ircidium chain. He noticed that the bleeding red eye patch over their hearts had a small black tear in the center.
The Overguard. The military elite.
Talon looked away from them, finding Delia. She was on her feet, her cloak removed, her hips swaying as she stumbled towards them.
Talon spun back around, kneeling in front of Terryl. "Where. Is. It. Being. Held?" He growled in the Mediator's face, wrapping a hand around his left hand and pinning it to the arm of the chair.
"I..."
Talon's knife came down, severing the hand.
"Scream, and you die," he whispered violently. "Where?"
The Mediator looked down at his bleeding wrist, his face turning pale, his eyes watering. "There's an abandoned farmhouse, two miles west of town. One hour." His terrified eyes shifted to Wilem, as though he would save him. "Please."
Murderer.
Yes.
Talon slid the knife along Terryl's throat in a tight line. Then he ran back to the window. The soldiers were still in the street. One of them had pulled Delia in and was trying to kiss her while she turned her face away. He laughed and shoved her to a second soldier, who put his hand on her rear before a third grabbed her from him and groped at her chest.
"Meet me downstairs," Talon said.
He took two steps back, and then threw himself from the window.
He dove headfirst towards the pavement below, his eyes on the soldiers, who paused in their assault and started reaching for their swords. He shifted his weight and brought his legs over and down, hitting the ground, bending to absorb some of the shock, and counting on the ebocite heart to help him with the rest. Pain lanced up his legs, but he was able to stand.
