His Ancient Heart

by M. R. Forbes

  "How do we get in?" Delia asked. "There must be a way."

  "A hidden door, somewhere," Talon said. He closed his eyes, trying to capture the details of the Hospice as he had last seen it.

  So long ago. And who can say it is nearly the same?

  The doorway had been massive, with no gates to speak of. It was always open to all who wanted to enter. It had faced to the east, the way they had come, and led the weary into a large courtyard where there was always food and water, and a servant waiting with a wheeled chair to carry the afflicted away to a healing chamber.

  Talon looked over at Wilem. He was too weak to be able to move the earth beneath their feet, not in the volume that would be needed.

  "Big enough for the Carriers, small enough to be hard to find," he said. "The Hospice would have run out that way, about halfway towards where the slope flattens. It isn't steep enough to hide a door."

  "Neither side is," Dalia said.

  "And yet we know there must be an entrance."

  When had he been there last? Before Genesia. It had to be. When he had lived at the Hospice with Alyssa. They had been so young then, so in love. He had worked there, making instruments for the wizards. Things like they had seen in the book Aren discovered.

  He couldn't help the smile that came to his face.

  I remember you, my love. As you were then. You were the most beautiful in the Empire. You always will be.

  He surveyed the landscape again. The Hospice was located on the sea for a reason. The wizards needed vast quantities of water to be brought onto the grounds. It wasn't only to keep the patients satiated. Their work wasn't all based on magic. They had plants, so many plants, that had healing properties of their own. Too many to rely on rainfall. He remembered the giant bellows that pulled in the seawater. The wizards captured much of it, using their magic to remove the salt, and then pushed the remainder back out. He had worked for the man who created it. An old grouch who used to scream at him when he would spend too much time tinkering. He couldn't remember his name.

  There wouldn't be much need to pull in seawater anymore.

  The pipe that delivered it on the other hand...

  He removed his tunic, and then pulled the Overguard's armor over his head, stripping down to the shirt beneath.

  "What are you doing?" Delia asked.

  The pipe was large, large enough for something to walk through, assuming that something had no need to breathe. Something like a juggernaut, carrying an airtight box.

  "Going for a swim," Talon said. "Watch Wilem for me. If I don't return soon, take him someplace nearby and stay hidden. We have to assume he knows the Mediators never returned from Gilspie, and will be sending soldiers this way."

  "What do you mean if you don't return?"

  "There is a pipe under the water. I believe that is where the Carriers exit from."

  "I'll come with you," Delia said.

  "No. Someone needs to watch over Wilem. Besides, you wouldn't survive. The tunnel is long, and you need to breathe."

  "So do you."

  "I'm hoping not."

  Talon took off his boots and dropped his sword belt on the ground. "Might I borrow one of those knives of yours?"

  Delia smiled and reached behind her back, pulling the thin dagger from behind. She flipped it towards him, and he caught it by the hilt.

  "An interesting weapon," he said, examining the intricacy of the leatherwork on the hilt, and the sharpness of the blade. It was well-balanced for both holding and throwing.

  "Please don't lose it. Dal brought it with him from his land."

  "I'll do my best. Take care of Wilem for me, my dear."

  "I will. Good luck, General."

  Talon nodded, and then turned and sprinted towards the water. He drove himself in despite the cold, wading out a few feet and then swimming away from the shore, until he found the place where the water darkened and the depths increased. He took a few quick breaths, and then sucked in as big a gulp of air as he could manage.

  He knew it wouldn't be enough.

  His only hope was that his ancient heart would see him through.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Talon

  He found the tunnel thirty feet below the surface, a large cylinder jutting out from an underwater cliff, covered on both sides by barnacles and sea grass, inhabited by a number of fish and crabs. It took nearly all of his breath to reach it, and he could feel his lungs burning as he reached out to grasp the end of it and pull himself into the inky blackness that would leave him swimming blind and quickly drowning.

  He didn't have a choice. There was no other way inside. He kicked his legs and pumped his arms as hard as he could, trying to find the center of the pipe and keep himself there.

  The last of his air ran out. He wasn't sure how far he had gone, but he could feel his body fighting to convulse, to writhe in painful failure.

  Not now. Not yet.

  He focused on his limbs, forcing himself to go harder, faster. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to tear right out of it with the force.

  He kept swimming. His eyes burned from the salt water, and they were beginning to blur. His limbs started to feel heavier, and it took every ounce of his will to keep his mouth shut, to keep himself from sucking in nothing but water.

  Murderer.

  The voice that tormented him instead brought him strength. This was his chance to end the cycle, to stop the deaths once and for all. If they had the Refinery, they would gain the Cursed, and he would lose his Mediators. All of the magic in the Empire could be used by the rebellion to topple Jeremiah, and it would be too late for him to stop it.

  Keep swimming.

  He continued to move his arms and legs, though they felt like they had lead weights tied to them. He refused to give in to the urge to breathe, or his body's command to die. He didn't need his lungs. He didn't need air. He was as much a juggernaut as the Carriers were, even if his skin was organic instead of metal.

  He felt a warmth from the other side, from his other heart. He heard the thrumming of it in his ears and felt it in his head. The strength began to return to him, a new form of energy pouring out into his limbs.

  Yes!

  He launched forward through the water. He kept swimming, for how long he didn't know. Soon, there was a prick of light, and it grew brighter as he moved, until it became obvious that there was something shining down into the water from above. The pipe had been diverted at some time in the past, away from the giant bellows and into a tub where the Carriers could rise or sink to enter or leave it.

  Now he would do the same.

  He made one more push forward, putting himself beneath the light. He looked up, seeing the top of the building high above, with dozens of clear crystals hanging from it and giving off a strong, natural light. They had been created over a thousand years ago and were still resonating.

  There was a ladder at the far end of the tub. Talon swam to it and took hold of the rungs, pulling himself up and out of the water. He finally opened his mouth and took in a massive breath of air, feeling his lungs begin to burn anew as the power of his ebocite heart waned. He heaved and coughed for a few minutes, trying to survey his surroundings at the same time he recovered from the swim.

  He was in the bellows room. The huge contraption was positioned a dozen feet away, exposed gears and pistons silent and still, though it looked like it could be restarted at any time. The disconnected import pipe was on one side, the export on the other. Behind it was a huge tank where the desalinated water would pool and then filter through even more pipes that ran everywhere along the walls of the Hospice.

  It was all so clean, as though the wizards who created it were still present, keeping it all in perfect order.

  He knew that meant he wasn't there alone.

  He took one more strong breath and shifted his grip on Delia's knife, holding it against his wrist so he could use it to slash. If there were more juggernauts here, more Four Zeros, he
could deactivate them without difficulty. If there was something else...

  There was no way in that any human could survive. If there were another living thing here, it would have to be one of his brothers. One of the Nine.

  A simple door rested at the far end of the room. Talon walked to it and pulled it open, and then peered out into the hall. The bellows was in the basement of the place, below the hundreds of rooms where they had brought patients for treatment, below the living quarters and dining halls and kitchens. The ceiling was low now, barely a foot over his head. The hanging crystals were replaced with the same phosphorescent moss that was prevalent in Genesia. It was groomed and tended.

  There was definitely something else in here with him.

  He walked along the corridor, keeping his steps as silent as possible, ready to leap at anything that appeared. He was starting to feel cold now, his body reacting to the frigid water that still clung to his clothes. He shivered as he reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner, following it towards a stairwell at the end.

  He stopped before he reached the stairs, when he came to a door he recognized. He put his hand to it, remembering. The workshop. He pushed the door open.

  He looked into the room. A long table with a row of tools laid out along it. A small furnace near the back where he could melt the ore. All kinds of molds and sample devices arranged on shelves in the corner. Things he had made, and things others had made after him. Inventions that helped the wizards of the Hospice cure even the worst afflictions. Inventions that could still help heal the sick today, if the Cursed were given the cure, and allowed to survive.

  The cure. He had to find it. He had to take whatever there was and bring it back out of this place, back to Delia and Wilem, and then to Eryn. He needed to return with an army large enough to take the Refinery and hold it, and watch his wizards reveal it to the world once more.

  Jeremiah would know he had been here. He would find out about the Carriers. Too late. Half his army was still in Elling, and half his Mediators were dead. Without the cure, the rest would die soon enough.

  He left the room, and went back towards the stairs. He climbed quickly, up and out into a back corridor, a maintenance tunnel that ran the perimeter of the main building. From what he knew, the blood was brought here, the prozoa were removed, and it was sent back out. He could only assume that if the process was happening here in the Hospice, it was due to some kind of ancient magic, some kind of ancient machine, or perhaps a combination of both.

  He chose one of the doors along the maintenance hallway and pushed it slowly open, leading with the dagger. The room he exited into was dark, devoid of crystals or vegetation. He could only barely make out the shapes of furniture in the dim glow that filtered from the access corridor.

  Something moved in the darkness. Talon turned his eyes to it.

  Red eyes looked back at him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Talon

  The juggernaut was silent as it moved in earnest, charging towards Talon, reaching out for him with giant hands. Talon stepped back, returning to the maintenance tunnel behind him while trying to get a good look at the creature.

  Sharp hands. Red eyes. No mouth. A Three Six.

  He threw the door closed behind him and took off down the hallway at a run. The juggernaut's fists pounded the door, smashing it to splinters. It entered the corridor behind him.

  The Three Six had no entry point. It was sealed to make it completely immune to Shifter attacks, sealed because it was never intended to be maintained. The model was brought to the front line, expected to punch through the armies and destroy the generals. It had failed because it was too weighted in ircidium to cross the time distortion. The generals had torn them apart, even as the Three Six had torn the orcs and goblins and even the occasional dragon apart.

  He may have been the First of Nine, the Champion of Ares'Nor, but without a blade that could punch through the juggernaut's armor... if it caught up to him, he would die.

  It was almost a mile to the far end of the corridor, a testament to the grandiosity of both the size and mission of the Hospice. Talon sprinted, his bare feet slapping on the cold stone floor, his heart ramping up in speed with each stride. The juggernaut was big for the space, and it had to hold itself in a crouch to give chase, giving him a chance to put some distance between them.

  He turned the corner, reaching the first door and pushing himself through, slamming it closed behind him and hoping the creature wouldn't know which way he had gone. He pushed his back against it and took hold of his breathing, focusing and slowing himself down. He was in another dark room, long and wide. A light filtered in from beneath the door at the other end.

  Talon waited. He could hear the echoing of the juggernaut's footsteps in the corridor. They drew close and then moved on, bypassing him and continuing the hunt. The Three Six was unmatched on an open field. It hadn't been designed to understand being fooled.

  His eyes adjusted while he stood there. He was in one of the healing chambers. An ircidium platform rested in the center of the room at a slight angle, with a gutter running along the bottom, draining out into a pipe that vanished into the ground. There were counters against the wall, laden with instruments the wizards had used in their healing. A small chair next to the platform allowed the wizard to sit while they did their work.

  Unlike the bellows below, this room was unkept, untouched by anything but time. There were cobwebs everywhere, the tools were rusted, and a musty, sickly smell permeated the air. Talon knew the things that had occurred in rooms such as these. Amazing things. Amputations, removals, knitting and sewing of muscle and bone. Lives saved. Enough to account for the millions taken?

  He went to the door, listening before opening it. If there was one Three Six, there were probably more, roaming these halls, protecting the Refinery from intruders. If there were enough of them, it would make it quite a challenge to take it from him.

  Silence.

  He opened the door and stepped out.

  A juggernaut was standing in the hallway. It started to move as soon as it saw him, eyes burning red and hands tightening to fists. Talon looked back the way he had come. He didn't want to get caught in the maintenance corridor, with two of the metal men drawing in from both sides. The other direction was clear.

  He ran again.

  The juggernaut trailed behind him, following him as he maneuvered through the hallways, searching for a way to lose the creature. The corridors were shorter here, too short to fool this one the way he had fooled the first. He cursed himself for not being better prepared.

  He reached a new passage. A juggernaut stood in the center of it. It came to life, moving towards him even as he backed away and found another direction.

  He could hear them behind him, giving chase. He turned more corners, discovered more of the creatures. He ran from these as well, each contact closing off another path, another option. Even so, they never seemed to be able to catch him, or get him completely boxed in. There was always another corridor, another way to escape.

  He was being led.

  He realized it long before he finally reached a corner that didn't split, the perfect place to close the noose around him. Only there was no juggernaut. Instead, there was a straight, open line to a large doorway at the end. The great hall waited beyond it, he knew. They had chased him there, brought him there with a purpose and guile that defied their creation.

  There was only one way that was possible.

  He slowed to a walk. The juggernauts approached his rear, but they didn't close in for the kill. Instead, they too slowed, staying a dozen feet behind him, forming up three across and three deep, marching at his back like perfect soldiers.

  He reached the door. It swung inward ahead of him.

  "Talon," General Kwille said. "How good of you to come."

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Talon

  Talon smiled. "Kwille. I should have known it would be you."

  The S
econd of the Nine, Kwille was a diminutive man with features that better suited a woman. Long, blonde hair, a soft, heart-shaped face that sported only the barest of stubble, a narrow frame that left his uniform ill-fitted and loose.

  He was the least suited for war of all of the Nine. A spineless man who scared at his own shadow, whose only claim to the brotherhood was his compatibility and their desperation. It was no wonder Jeremiah had installed him at the Refinery, keeping him out of the greater fight and leaving him with the squad of juggernauts.

  "I never liked killing," Kwille said.

  "You won't like being killed either."

  Kwille laughed softly. "Oh, come now, Talon. Not even you can fight nine juggernauts and survive. Besides, I'm not here to see you dead."

  "You're not?"

  Kwille shook his head. "No. Those aren't my orders. That you've made it here is impressive. Beyond impressive. We were certain that diverting the Carriers from Edgewater would be enough to keep you away, and yet you knew where they would be. We never guessed that you had access to a scrying stone. There are only four of them after all."

  "Three," Talon said. "It was destroyed." He didn't care if Kwille knew. Either the General wasn't going to survive to make another report or Talon would be too dead for it to matter.

  "A pity. So difficult to make. The tourmaline is rarer than ebocite."

  "Where is he?" Talon asked.

  "Who?"

  "You know who, Kwille. Where is he?" Talon's voice rose sharply as his anger grew.

  "Not here. Not out there." He waved his hand towards the ceiling, at least a hundred feet above them. There were so many of the glowing crystals there that it resembled the night sky. "I don't know exactly where. None of us do. No one does. It's better that way."

  "Better? How?"

  "Less... personal?"

  "I assure you, Kwille. It's personal."

  "You misunderstand me. The promise, Talon. You've broken it."