Zane Halloway: Omnibus Edition

by P. T. Hylton

  As he watched the tip of the sword steady in front of him, Bartholomew had to admit, she had a point. His arms did feel a bit better now that he was concentrating on the air entering his lungs.

  “And that,” his mentor said, “is time. Very well done, young man.”

  He gasped in gratitude and lowered the sword, letting the tip swing down near the floor. His muscles screamed in a strange mixture of pain and relief.

  Suddenly, his mentor had her sword in her hand. He hadn’t seen her draw it. Those types of things were common with her. She’d do something seemingly impossible, and he’d be left to wonder whether she’d accomplished the feat with skill or magic. She was a master of both. It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn she’d simply moved so quickly his eyes had missed the motion, but she just as easily could have used a shimmer.

  Lily Rhodes gave him a wicked smile, her wrinkled old face alive with delight. “I said your time was up. I didn’t tell you to lower your sword.”

  He sighed and allowed himself a moment—but only a moment—of self-pity. Any longer, and she’d deliver a cruel slap with the flat of her blade. He raised his sword and grimaced. This was his least favorite part of his apprenticeship.

  Bartholomew waited.

  One moment Lily was still, and the next she was attacking. He never saw the transition, the beginnings of her movement. She started with a standard lunge which he just barely deflected. She then moved to the left, spinning, and attacked his right side. A few months ago he would have thought such a move impossible. But back then he hadn't seen Lily move.

  She attacked low. He parried. She attacked high. He parried.

  He soon realized she wasn't trying to hit him, only trying to test him. She was pushing him hard enough that he was just at the edge of breaking, and she kept him there, neither letting up nor increasing the intensity of her attack. It went on for minutes, though it felt like hours. Finally when he wasn't sure he could hold the sword up any longer, when he’d passed the point of exhaustion, she gave the quickest flick of the wrist, brought her sword down at a sharp angle, and knocked his to the floor.

  Lily watched, her face unreadable, as Bartholomew gasped for air. It was bad enough for a sixteen-year-old boy to be bested by a woman who looked as ancient as this one. It was made worse by the fact that she wasn't even winded. He put his hands on his knees, trying to regain his breath.

  He silently cursed her. He hadn't come here for this. He’d come here to learn magic. He’d worked harder than any of his classmates over the last four years, graduating from the Abditus Academy with top honors so he’d be noticed by the best mentors. He wanted to be selected for his skill, not for his family name. And he had been. Lily, widely regarded as the best of the best mentors, selected him, and he’d felt in that moment that his future was secured. She’d trained kings, legends, and even—if the stories were to be believed—elves. And she’d selected him as her next student.

  He hadn't expected his training to be like this. He had never been a fighter, never wanted to be a fighter. But she insisted on it. She said it was an integral part of any abditus training. He’d known she was eccentric, he just hadn’t known how much pain her eccentricity would cause him.

  If she noticed his discomfort, she didn’t respond to it. Her sword was back in its scabbard, and she once again had her arms crossed behind her back.

  Bartholomew had to concentrate very hard to keep from saying something rude. He’d questioned her only once in their time together, and he’d regretted it all through the long night on the rooftop that followed. He’d spent eight hours practicing sword forms in the rain.

  “Follow me,” Lily said. Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked out of the room.

  Bartholomew followed her to the large sitting room, an open space that could have easily seated thirty, dominated by a massive hearth. They sat in the two chairs closest to the fire, and Lily poured him a cup of tea. His hands shook as he took it from her, making the cup rattle against the saucer.

  After he’d taken a sip, she said, “Tell me what you did wrong.”

  “I allowed myself to be placed with the wrong mentor.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he instantly regretted his answer. His face flushed, and thoughts of another night on the roof filled his mind.

  To his surprise, his mentor cackled, rocking back and forth at the hilarity of his statement. He dared not speak. When she finally stopped laughing, she leaned forward and glared at him.

  “Explain,” she said. “Speak freely. You won’t be punished.”

  He greatly doubted the truth of that statement.

  When he didn’t immediately respond, she said, “I’d have your honest answer, not the one you come up with after thinking on it for five minutes.”

  He nodded, then said, “I came here to learn magic. I’ve been here for months, and you’ve taught me none.”

  She kept staring at him with those piercing brown eyes, so he continued.

  “My friends from the Academy tell me in their letters of all the things they’re learning. One is even producing Cull Flames from scratch. And selling them.”

  “Ridiculous,” Lily muttered. “Allowing a fresh apprentice to sell Cull Flames.”

  She didn’t seem angry, though. Not with him. She was actually listening to his complaints. He had to keep going.

  “Haven’t I done everything you’ve asked of me? Haven’t I learned the sword to the best of my ability? And I’ve never once asked you why.” He broke away from her gaze and looked down at the floor. “I’m asking now. Why must I learn these things?”

  “I told you why,” she snapped. “A strong body helps strengthen the mind. I trained as a ferox for two years. I passed the ferox placement exam. And it’s because of that training that I—”

  “I know the histories,” he said. He’d surprised himself, cutting her off like that. He was angry, a feeling that had been simmering for weeks and was only now boiling over. “Yours was a different time. My professors at the Academy said I have real potential, and I don’t want to squander our time together. I’ll never be called upon to use a sword.”

  Lily chuckled. “You have no idea what the future holds, boy. You have no idea what you will or won’t be called to do. There was a time I thought I’d never meet a king. Never wield a thorn or build a tangle. Never go to war. But those things happened. Those and so many more.”

  Bartholomew suddenly realized how little he knew about the woman sitting next to him. He knew the complicated relationship she’d had with his own family over the years. He knew the five or six famous stories, like everyone else. Her role in the second golden age of magic. The thing with the elves. The way she’d outwitted the wetlanders who’d underestimated her because of her advanced age. But those events spanned sixty years. And the gaps between the stories, the times he knew nothing of, those constituted a life. He knew the legend but not the person.

  After a moment, she said, “I fought alongside your grandfather for a time.” She grinned slyly. “Did a bit more than fight with him, too, if you catch my meaning.”

  Bartholomew was afraid he did catch her meaning, and he turned crimson. He knew she’d fought alongside his grandfather and how things had ended between them.

  “What he would have thought of the lot of you, I don’t know,” she said. “Caleb Longstrain’s grandchildren, a bunch of pretentious nobles. Who’d have guessed it?”

  He scowled but said nothing. He’d been hearing this type of thing his whole life. When he was young, he’d felt pride in the pirate side of his family tree. That had quickly gone away at the Academy when everyone he met wore the same look of disappointment upon learning the scrawny, bookish boy in front of them was the grandson of Caleb Longstrain and the great-grandson of the legendary pirate Henry Longstrain.

  Lily looked at him crookedly for a moment. “Tell me, young Bartholomew, what do you know of Zane Halloway?”

  That surprised him. In truth, he knew v
ery little. “I know he was your mentor for a short time before the war. I know he killed my great-grandfather. I know the song, of course.” He cleared his throat and then softly sang, “The outcast Zane went to Harken town, a price upon his head. He had no coin, he wore but rags, and his own king wished him dead.”

  Lily wave a hand in the air, her face scrunched up as if she’d smelled something foul. “Stop, stop.”

  Bartholomew let his voice trail off, mildly offended. He prided himself on his rich, baritone voice. Many young ladies in court had complimented him on it before succumbing to his charms and allowing him a kiss.

  “Zane Halloway never wore rags, I’ll tell you that much,” Lily said. “He did go to Harken, and the king did order him assassinated. Beyond that…” She stared into the fire for a while before continuing. “It was a strange time. I’d just returned from the Crags. The king blamed Zane and me for the Craggish High Prince aligning with the Tavellers. He sent three assassins after Zane.”

  “And what about you?” Bartholomew asked. He knew how the war ended, but not much about how it began.

  “The king probably would have ordered me killed as well, but I offered to find an army to replace the one I’d lost him. The elves. So Prince Christopher and I headed behind the Blue Wall in Barnes to see if I could keep that promise. I knew I’d be killed if I failed. How’s that for motivation?” She cackled. Then her face darkened. “As I found out later when Zane told me his story, he was facing an even more immediate threat.”

  Lily’s eyes were unfocused, as if she was lost in the remembering.

  “I’ll bet your silly song didn’t cover that part of it,” she continued. “There are so many exaggerated stories about me, and all Zane gets is a song full of half-truths that completely misses the point of what was best about him. He was good with a sword, yes, but…there was much more to him than that.”

  “What was best about him?” Bartholomew’s aching arms were suddenly forgotten. He’d been told Lily Rhodes never talked about the past. Now, here she was doing just that. Perhaps she was growing nostalgic in her old age.

  She looked back at him, and he was surprised to see a smile on her face.

  “He was determined, for one thing. Once he took a job, he didn’t stop until it was completed. And he was clever. For every fight he won, there were two he avoided with his deft tongue. He always managed to survive, even in the stickiest of situations. But most of all he was good. He was a good man, an honorable man, though he would have been the last one to admit it.” She held up a wrinkled, crooked finger. “You asked why you have to learn the sword. You want to know what good can come of steel and violence? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you what happened to me, and I’ll tell you what happened to Zane, same way he told it to me.”

  She took a small sip of tea, then set the cup and saucer down on the table beside her.

  “Listen, young Bartholomew Longstrain, and I’ll tell you how Zane Halloway and I spent the Tavel War.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Zane Halloway looked out the window at the city of Gippen. It had been a long while since he'd walked these particular streets, and he let his eyes drift, taking in the familiar sights of so many years ago.

  After leaving the Crags, Zane, Charles Danum, and the three younger ferox had headed north, mostly because Lily and Prince Christopher’s party had headed south. Zane couldn't go to Barnes. He'd considered it briefly; that was where most of his wealth was stored, after all. However, he decided against it. It was too dangerous. They’d be looking for him there. He knew King Edward would be furious about what Zane had done in the Crags. He wouldn’t let Zane’s action go unanswered. The king would send people after Zane. It wouldn’t be soldiers or members of the King’s Guard; he’d need them for the war. So it would be ferox. And Zane suspected he knew which ones.

  Zane had enough coin to cover expenses for a few weeks. After much discussion, they'd headed to the other city Zane knew best. The place where Zane had first been placed as a ferox eighteen years ago.

  Gippen was a small, isolated city, and it had a long memory. When they’d arrived, he’d found that many of the residents remembered him fondly, and those that didn’t had older relatives who did. Few moved to or from Gippen, so there were plenty of familiar faces. The city had been assigned an epic string of terrible ferox after Zane left, so that had probably also helped cement his reputation with the locals. Part of him, a prideful part, wondered if those ferox had really been so bad, or if he had simply set the people’s expectations too high. Whatever the reason, ten years ago the Gippen city council had politely but firmly asked the Ferox Society to stop placing their members in Gippen, and the city had been without a ferox ever since.

  It also helped that these northerners were nearly self-sufficient. They traded for a few luxuries from the south, but the forests around them were teeming with life and provided for all their needs. The residents had no love for the crown, and they begrudged the king the taxes he forced them to pay. Zane knew all of this, and he knew that if someone from the south came sniffing around, the Gippeners would deny all knowledge of his existence and promptly report the news to Zane.

  Which was how he came to hear about the white-haired stranger with a limp who’d shown up an hour before in a tavern on the east side of the city. The stranger was asking questions about a ferox named Zane Halloway.

  Zane was sitting at a table with Danum and his three ferox. They were in the serving room at the Northern Iron Inn where they’d been staying for the past week. An elderly man whose name Zane couldn’t remember marched up to him and passed on the news. According to the man, the white-haired stranger had been very persistent in his inquires. Eventually, the bartender had asked the stranger to leave, and he’d done so without complaint. The old man had come directly to the Northern Iron to reports the news.

  Zane thanked the man and handed him a coin for his trouble.

  When the man was gone, Zane shared his suspicions about the stranger’s identity with his table mates.

  Gladys was the first to respond. “If you’re right, we’d better either leave town now or come up with a plan to kill him very quickly.”

  Zane nodded. He liked Gladys. She reminded him of Lily, though she was tall and fair where Lily was short and dark. They both had the same no-nonsense attitude. Apparently they’d been in the Academy together. Gladys was almost as good with a blade as Lily was. Almost.

  Randell, a stocky, raven-haired ferox who carried a broadsword, glanced at Danum. “You worked with him, didn’t you, Charles?”

  Danum nodded. “That I did. I didn’t much like him. Something’s not right about the man. He’s vicious. He enjoys what he does a little too much.”

  “Xavier Kipling is the best swordsman in the country,” Zane said. “If he’s hunting us, we need a plan, and quickly.”

  “So what do we do?” It was the final member of their team, Sara. She was looking at Zane when she said it. She was the only one of the three rogue ferox who had stopped pretending Danum was in charge, and Zane respected her for it. She rarely ever spoke, but, when she did, the words were always worth hearing.

  Zane scratched at his chin. “Gladys is correct. We run or we fight. Personally, I’m in favor of fighting. The good news is he hasn’t found us yet. We have the upper hand. We’ll start working sources in the morning. It shouldn’t take long to find where he’s staying. Then we deal with him.”

  Twenty minutes later, Danum, Randell, and Sara retired to their rooms for the evening. They’d agreed to take three-hour shifts watching the inn’s two entrances. Zane and Gladys took the first shift, with Zane watching the front entrance and Gladys watching the back.

  As the other ferox left, Zane watched the door and let his mind wander. He thought about how he would approach the job if he’d been hired to track down five ferox. He certainly wouldn’t have waggled his jaw about the job in some local tavern. But Xavier Kipling had never been one for subtlety. He trusted his skill with the sword
far too much. No, the only reason Zane would talk openly in public about his targets was if…

  Zane suddenly felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  The only reason Zane would talk openly in public about his targets was if he wanted it to get back to them. If he wanted to make them think he didn’t know where they were. If he wanted to feed them information. And he’d only do that as a final step to misdirect their attention right before he struck.

  Zane leapt up from the table, ignoring the surprised barkeep and patrons who gawked at him open-mouthed as he dashed through the serving area and up the steps to the rooms. He came to Sara’s room first, and he pounded on the door in the pattern they used to convey danger. There was no response. He knocked again and once again there was no answer.

  He was about to turn and head toward Danum’s room when he heard something through the door. Something faint. It sounded like a whimper.

  Zane snarled and kicked at the door, just below the knob. It groaned but didn’t open. He kicked again, and this time the door jamb splintered. A third kick sent the door swinging open behind a shower of shattered wood.

  He stepped into the room and stopped short when he saw her. He fell to his knees next to the pool of blood spreading around Sara. She’d been stabbed in the stomach, and her throat had been slashed. Two efficient wounds, and, knowing the person who’d made them, each would have been deadly on its own.

  Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow.

  “Sara,” he whispered. She didn’t react to his voice.

  He heard a crash coming from across the hall. Danum’s room.

  Zane hesitated, but only for a moment. There wasn’t much he could do here, and if there was still a chance of saving the other, he had to take it. He turned and left Sara there, dying on the ground.

  When he got to Danum’s door, he didn’t bother knocking. It too was locked, but, whether it was the blood rushing through his veins or he was just properly warmed up, he broke through the door on the first kick.