Talion: Revenant Chapter Two

The goal of the 10,000 copy sequel challenge is to sell copies of Talion: Revenant so I can afford to take the time to write Talion: Nemesis. The total number of copies sold so far is just shy 600. To build up momentum for the effort, I’ve decided to serialize the novel to the web. In this way I can let readers who’ve not had a chance to read the book to get a taste of it; and to develop a desire for the sequel. (And any of you who want to see the sequel coming faster can blog about the effort, and point friends to the serialized novel, encouraging them to support the effort by purchasing a copy of the ebook.)

If you’d like to purchase the entire novel from my webstore, you can click here; and if you’d like to buy the book through Amazon for your Kindle, you can click here.

Talion: Revenant is ©1997 Michael A. Stackpole

Chapter Two

Nolan: Trial

I unrolled the yellowed map Orjan had given me in Tashar and squinted at the huge dolmen halfway up through the pass. Three stones supported a large, flat triangular slab. I checked the map and smiled. The dolmen was the last landmark on my map. Just up the slope, through the last narrow pass in the Tal Mountains, was Talianna. I’d made it.

I rolled the map back up and jammed it over my shoulder into my pack. I picked up my walking stick and marched forward over the uneven, rocky ground. I was so close to my goal I could feel it just beyond the horizon. The pass would open up and there it would be, Talianna, the home of the people who brought justice to the world.

A smile crept onto my face. I was eager to be done with my journey. A thousand miles and five months before, I’d left my family’s home in Sinjaria and set out. At first it seemed a foolish mission. I was not even twelve summers old when I started, and the journey began without any real planning. I knew Talianna lay west and north, so I headed into the Darkesh and just kept walking.

Hiking that last mile I knew all the other miles had seemed long and lonely and dangerous. Even so, try as I might, I couldn’t bring to mind the particulars of any one mile when I thought the journey would be ended prematurely. The times I came across signs of outlaw bands, as in the forests of Cela, I hid. When I found a farm or village, I traded work for space near the fire and as much food as I could get. And when I got sick I was lucky enough to meet someone like Orjan who took care of me.

The last hundred yards of the pass rose very steeply and forced me to crawl forward on my hands and feet. I carefully picked my hand- and footholds because I did not want to injure myself so close to the goal I’d worked so hard to reach. I had to make it in good health or the entire journey would be wasted.

Halfway up the slope it occurred to me that the Nolan who started the journey would never have even attempted a climb like this, nor would he have been able to complete it. I’d not filled out during the trek—there was not enough food along the way to let me do that—but I’d grown harder. I’d worked my childhood chubbiness off and I’d grown an inch or two. If I continued at that rate I’d surpass my twin older brothers and perhaps even my father.

I reached the top of the hill before I could catch myself up in thinking about my family. I pulled myself onto the hilltop and collapsed. My chest heaved and labored hard to suck in enough of the thin mountain air to sate my body. A bit dizzy, I lay back and, drunk with success, just started to laugh. Finally I regained enough strength to roll over onto my hands and knees. I levered myself up and the Tal Valley unfolded below me.

I’d never seen anything so green before. Deep, dark living green covered the valley floor. From the patchwork of cultivated fields in the south and west to the forest at the base of the mountains upon which I stood, this valley was the verdant treasure my father had promised our farm would one day become.

The natural wonders of the valley paled to insignificance, though, when compared to Talianna itself. Star within a pentagon within another pentagon, Talianna rose up, a gleaming white stone city full of strength and power. Massive white marble blocks made up the walls and buildings. The outer siege wall stood twenty feet tall, while the inner pentagon soared up to half again that height.

The central star was the most magnificent building I’d ever seen. The walls of each point sloped in and up to form a pyramid at the star’s core. The pyramid itself had a flat top and a flagpole set in the center of it. A plain black flag writhed and snapped in the breeze because here, in the Tal province, it needed no ensign.

I stood there and shivered. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose. I had arrived: I’d reached my destination. I’d finished my journey and the time came for me to decide my destiny.

I opened a pouch on my belt and fished around in the bottom of it for a small, leather-wrapped packet. I untied the lacing and took out a single gold Imperial. It had been my family’s treasure and was only to be used in an emergency, but even it had not been enough to save them.

It was an old coin, so old I could not read the inscription. Bright and clean as the day the mint struck it despite its antiquity, it bore no signs of use or wear. The words on the coin were old and although I knew how to read, I could not make out what they meant. Still I did recognize the face on the coin. It was Emperor Clekan, the first emperor, Clekan the Just.

I weighed the coin in my hand. I relished its coolness, and reveled in the fact that it no longer seemed heavy. I swallowed once and flipped the coin high into the air. It spun and spun, flashing spears of sunlight off in all directions. As it fell to earth again I caught it in my open right palm. Clekan’s profile glowed in the sunlight.

I smiled. “It’s decided. I’m yours.”

A shadow blotted out the sun. I twisted to my right and caught a flash of white and brown descending through the blue sky. A high scream deafened me and something hit me hard in the back. I felt the shoulder straps on my back pull, twist, and snap as I smashed into the ground.

I landed hard on my chest and had the wind knocked from my lungs. I bounced once and flipped onto my back. I lay there, arms and legs splayed out, while I tried to breathe and scream. I tried to swallow enough air to stem the suffocating feeling in my chest, but my body would not respond. In addition to my breathlessness, my back complained of the impact and the jagged chunk of rock beneath me.

I felt someone grab my shoulders and pull me off the rock. “Don’t try to move. Is anything broken?” The voice was young, about my age, and as nervous and scared as I felt.

I shook my head and opened my eyes. A sandy-haired, brown-eyed boy wearing a brown jerkin with a white hawk in flight stenciled on the left breast stood over me. With my response to his question he calmed almost instantly and that calmed me.

“I’m an Elite novice.” He reached down and took hold of my belt. He lifted up, arched my back gently, and forced air into my lungs. I didn’t breathe much in, but it cooled the burning in my chest nonetheless. He lowered me, then lifted again.

The numbness centered in my chest faded. I nodded at him and tapped his arm twice. He let me down and crouched beside me. “Can you feel your legs and toes?”

I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain of sore ribs. I drew my knees up and flexed my toes. “Yes, I can.”

The Talion novice rocked back on his heels and smiled. “I’m sorry for what happened. I passed my trial today and took Valiant up for a flight. He saw something and stooped. It wasn’t until the last second I saw you. No one’s supposed to be up in these mountains during Festival.”

I tucked my legs under me and came up into a sitting position. The sharpness of pain in my back drained away, but it still felt pretty sore. That’s when I saw Valiant for the first time—the blur of color I saw before he hit me did not count—and I paled.

The Elite caught my reaction and smiled. “Don’t be afraid of him. He’s not even full grown yet.”

Valiant was an Imperial Hawk. Its belly was white and dappled with dark brown, while the wings and back were light brown. It stood, hobbled and hooded, about twenty feet away from me and shredded my pack. From talons to the top of its head it stood about six feet high, and when full grown would be able to take cattle the way a kestrel takes varmints.

My mouth went dry. “The, ah, that’s what hit me?”

The Elite nodded. He hefted my coin and flashed it in the sunlight. “I think he saw the flash and went for it. You shouldn’t be up here. How did you get past the patrols keeping Festival people out of this area?” He handed me the coin and I returned it to my pouch.

“I came in from the north. I’m coming to be a Talion. My name’s Nolan, Nolan ra Sinjaria.”

The Talion’s eyes narrowed, then he stood. “I’m Erlan ra Leth, though I’ve been in Talianna since just after I was born. Come on.” He reached down and helped me to my feet. “You’ve got to sign in by the end of today or you can’t try to join during this Festival.”

I looked down at the valley below. “I can’t climb down there by the end of the day.”

Erlan smiled. “I know. I’ll fly you down.”

I don’t know if Valiant just didn’t like my weight on his back or he could smell the fear on me, but he made my first ride a rough one. My heart rode the whole way in my mouth and I was glad I’d not stopped to eat any lunch on the trail. I felt queasy as Valiant spread his wings, and I left my stomach back on the mountain when we dropped toward the valley below.

I held on tight to the saddle harness and hunched down to make myself as small and compact as possible. I heard Erlan curse the bird a couple of times, but he maintained control and got us safely off the mountain.

Erlan let Valiant glide down in a long spiral and tapped me on the shoulder. I looked at him and he pointed down. As I looked beyond Valiant’s wing I saw the smile growing on Erlan’s face. He knew exactly what I was seeing for the first time, and he shared my excitement and amazement.

Southwest of Talianna stood a grove of tents and pavilions. Brightly colored and clumped together like mushrooms, the largest pavilions flew flags and pennants from the different nations of the Shattered Empire. Ringing them were the smaller cloth homes of merchants and lesser dignitaries who came to enjoy the Festival.

I looked at Erlan. “The people look like ants,” I yelled so he could hear me. “Everything is so small.”

He smiled and nodded. “I’ll land Valiant at the Mews and then we’ll walk down and take care of you.” He pointed first at a long, rectangular building northwest of the siege wall, then at a black pavilion between the festival tents and Talianna itself.

Erlan tapped Valiant on the head with a crop and we started down quickly. The wind whipped my hair back and forced tears from my eyes, but the exhilarating sensation of speed made the ride anything but uncomfortable. In that descent I abandoned my fear of the Hawk. How could I fear something that could let me fly?

Valiant spread his wings, splayed out the feathers, and beat them to slow us. We hovered at a dead stop bare feet above the ground, then dropped to a soft landing. Valiant cried triumphantly and Erlan scratched him on the neck before hooding the Hawk.

Erlan tossed the reins to another Elite novice and headed off toward the large black pavilion south and west of the Mews. He got a couple steps ahead of me and I hurried to catch up. He couldn’t have been any older than I was, yet he walked with an ease and confidence I’d not seen in a youth before. It wasn’t an arrogant swagger, like the kind one might expect from a bully who thinks he’s the toughest person in the county. It was a head-held-high stride that was nonthreatening, yet was not timid or submissive.

Erlan pointed to a slightly rotund man wearing black pants and tunic. “Nolan, go over to that table and talk to that clerk.” The clerk wore a tunic with the Talion Services division emblem—a hammer crossed by a quill—on his left breast. “I’ll come back for you when you are done.”

Erlan left me and walked over to two older Talions. He bowed respectfully and spoke with them. As directed, I walked over to the man Erlan had pointed out to me. “Excuse me?”

He looked up from his neatly kept table. His chins jounced just enough to destroy the stern nature of the stare he turned on me. “Yes, boy, what is it?” he demanded impatiently.

I fought to keep a tremble out of my voice. “I want to become a Talion.”

He looked me over once hurriedly, then tilted his head back down. “Tell your parents you are too old.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “They’re dead.”

He looked at me again and frowned. Was he looking for tears? His knitted brows clearly showed his frustration and annoyance with me. “Did relatives send you?”

I shook my head. I suppose it was a fair question. Any family that has a Talion in it is paid money for that person’s service for as long as he remains a Talion. It was not uncommon for families to send an unwanted child to the Talions. “There is no one,” I answered slowly. “I am the last of my family.”

The clerk nodded and pulled a slip of paper from the stack at his left hand. He dipped his quill in the inkwell and gave me a smug smile. “You’re from one of the Western Sea States, right?”

I smiled. He’d guessed correctly. “My name is Nolan.”

He wrote on the tan sheet and handed it to me. “Bring that back tomorrow morning and the others will get you ready for your trial.”

I rotated the paper around so I could read it. “This is wrong.” I handed it back to him.

“What are you talking about?” He stared at me as if I was mad.

I pointed to the error. “It says Nolan ra Hamis. I am Nolan ra Sinjaria.”

He laughed. His laughter rippled through his jowls and belly. Anger fired through me and I clamped my jaw shut. I knew what his next words would be and I wanted to jam a fist in his mouth so they’d never get out. “Sinjaria was conquered. As of this spring it is a duchy administered by King Tirrell of Hamis. You are Nolan ra Hamis.”

“No!” I crumpled the paper and threw it at the table. It bounced up and hit him in his ample nose. “I wasn’t conquered! I owe no allegiance to him or his puppet, Duke Vidor.”

The clerk stood. Fury flushed color into his cheeks, and the veins in his neck struggled to stand out. My eyes narrowed and I set myself to trade barbs or hit him if he hit me. Then, wordlessly, he eased back and looked down.

They surrounded me. Erlan stood at my right and the two other Talions he spoke to earlier positioned themselves at my left. The shorter one only came up to my throat. Although his seamed face and leathery skin conspired to make him look old, his jet black hair and lively brown eyes defeated their attempt. He wore brown leathers and had an Elite hawk ensign on his left breast just like Erlan.

The other man towered over me by a head, which made him very tall indeed. Whipcord lean like the shorter man, he had penetrating brown eyes and a shaven head. He had a very angular cast to his features, which would have made him look emotionless except for the smoldering fire in his eyes. He wore a black robe cinched loosely at his slender waist with a knotted cord. He had a white death’s-head on the left breast of his robe—seeing it sent a shiver down my spine. He was a Justice!

The tall man spoke in a low, gentle, yet firm voice. “Is there a problem here?”

The clerk seated himself and shuffled his papers. “No, my Lord Hansur, there is no problem. The youth was confused concerning geography.” The clerk reached for the crumpled ball on his desk and smoothed it out.

“I am not confused.” I protested and pointed at the paper. “I am Nolan ra Sinjaria and he wrote ‘ra Hamis.’ ”

Lord Hansur took the slip from the desk and read it. His fingers were incredibly long and well callused. He passed the parchment to the Elite beside him and stared down at the clerk. “The slip is incorrect. And it is also incomplete. Have you forgotten the information we need?”

The clerk paled and swallowed hard. “No, my lord.”

Lord Hansur looked down at me. “You are Nolan ra Sinjaria?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Family?”

“None, I am an orphan.” As I answered Lord Hansur’s questions the clerk copied my responses onto a new slip of parchment.

Lord Hansur paused for a second. “I am sorry for you. How many summers have you seen?”

I hesitated. “Twelve, but…”

The clerk would have written twelve but Lord Hansur flicked his left hand in that direction to stop him. “You do know your own age?”

I smiled nervously and glanced down at my feet for a heartbeat. “I was born very early in the fall, just at the end of the summer. I didn’t see my first summer, but I didn’t miss it by much either.”

Again Lord Hansur paused. His eyes narrowed momentarily and he folded his arms so that his hands disappeared into the sleeves of his black woolen robe. “Understand this, Nolan, we use age to determine the difficulty of the trial for our novices. The trial will be less demanding for someone who is twelve than someone who is thirteen. You may try to become a Thirteen if you wish, but it is your choice.”

I bit my lower lip and thought. Finally I shook my head. “I don’t think competing as if I was only eleven would be fair.”

Lord Hansur nodded and looked at the clerk. “Very well. List him as a prospective Thirteen.”

I watched the clerk write that down and smiled. I wanted to be a Talion badly, but I wasn’t going to cheat to become one.

“You have one last question to answer, Nolan,” Lord Hansur said as the clerk finished. “What division do you want to enter?”

My heart thundered loudly in my ears and I felt fear tighten my throat. There were seven different divisions to pick from, but I ruled two of them out immediately. I couldn’t be an Elite because I couldn’t fly a Hawk and I knew no magick, so joining the Wizards was out of the question. My best chance would be as a Warrior or Lancer. I might be able to succeed as an Archer, and my literacy would put me a step above other candidates to become a member of the Services division. Still none of those divisions interested me.

I licked my dry lips. “I want to be a Justice.”

The clerk contained himself for a second of stone cold silence, then burst out laughing. He rocked back on his stool, lost his balance, and toppled over onto the ground. He held his middle and continued to laugh.

Lord Hansur snapped a word at him that instantly strangled the laughter. The Justice said one short sentence in a language I’d never heard before, but the tone of his voice could have cut like a razor. The clerk righted his stool, bowed, and fled. Lord Hansur himself slipped behind the table and wrote the word Justice on the paper. He slid it over toward me. “Make your mark.”

I took the quill and signed my name as neatly and evenly as I could. The lines wobbled a little because of my hand’s nervous tremor, but other than that the signature was one to be proud of. I set the quill down.

Lord Hansur pressed his right palm against the parchment. When he lifted his hand I saw the death’s-head tattoo on his palm, and an exact image of it etched on the bottom of the document. My mouth dropped open, and my teeth clicked when I snapped it shut again.

Lord Hansur politely ignored my shock. “This parchment is for you. Erlan will take you to Devon ra Yastan’s tent. Devon will take care of you. He will give you food and a place to sleep tonight. Tomorrow morning someone will come to bring you to the Trial grounds.”

The parchment fluttered like a captive bird in my trembling hands. I bowed to Lord Hansur and the Elite, then followed Erlan out of the tent.

“Well, Nolan, you sure went out of your way to impress Lord Hansur.” Erlan smiled broadly.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The age stuff and the orphan story.” Erlan laughed and shook his head.

I grabbed the Elite novice by the shoulder and spun him around to face me. “That was all true. My family is dead, all of them.”

His smile faded, then he jerked his shoulder from my grasp and squinted at me. “If that’s so, how did you get here?”

I shrugged. “I walked.”

My reply surprised him. “From Sinjaria? Alone?”

I nodded solemnly. “It took five months. I was sick in Tashar.”

Erlan frowned. “You couldn’t make it all that way by yourself.”

I shrugged again. “You saw me on the mountains. Did you see anyone there with me?”

“No, no I didn’t.” Erlan’s smile returned. “Sorry. It’s just that during Festival it seems like everyone who wants to become a Talion has a reason or a story they try to use to impress the lord of the division they want to enter.”

I stopped and fixed him with a terrified stare. “Do you mean Lord Hansur is one of the Justice lords?”

Erlan caught my disbelief and pounced on it like a cat on a mouse. “One of? He’s the only Justice lord. If you succeed he’ll be the man you report to.” I must have looked sick or desperate because he added, “And the other man was Isas ra Amasia, Lord of the Elites. And both of them were already impressed with your ability to dodge a stooping Hawk!”

I said nothing during the rest of our walk to Devon’s pavilion. A swarthy, plump Yastani, Devon greeted me with a booming laugh that made me, as nervous as I was, feel at home. He immediately turned me over to his servants, who fed me, heated water for a bath, and prepared me a rug, blanket, and pillow so I could sleep. The food was great, and reminded me of the meals I shared with one farm family I’d stayed with in Yastan. My travel caught up with me in the bath and, once I’d dried myself, I pulled the blanket over me and dropped off to sleep.

My exhaustion helped me. I slept well and didn’t have the nightmare that had chased me halfway across the continent.

Devon woke me before dawn. He shook my shoulder gently. I sat up and rubbed the sleepsand from my eyes. Though I was still slightly sore and stiff, the night’s rest had helped my back immeasurably.

“Nolan, get dressed. We’ve got some stew for you to eat before they come for you.”

I pulled my clothes on quickly and sat at the table in the center of his pavillion. Devon sat opposite me and ate an apple. Before I ate anything myself, I smiled at him. “I want to thank you very much for letting me stay here. I have some money and I’ll pay you for the food and space.”

Devon shook his head, waved me to my food, and laughed. “No, don’t think of it, lad. You are here because Hansur sent you. Besides, having Nolan ra Sinjaria as my guest has been an honor. Very few heroes try to become Talions.”

A spoonful of steaming stew stopped midway between the bowl and my mouth. “Hero? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Devon laughed again. “No, I don’t expect you do. Stories about you traveled swiftly last night. The clerk was from Hamis and your show of patriotism was much appreciated by the Rimahasti and Janian lords here. Furthermore it was learned and circulated that you’d traveled all by yourself almost four hundred leagues to get here.”

I snorted. “More like three hundred.”

Devon shrugged. “Split the difference, truth be told, but it’s still quite a journey for a young man like you. And to top it all off, after all that traveling, you still have the strength and speed to avoid a stooping Hawk!” Devon’s face assumed an expression of exaggerated awe. He held it until I burst out laughing, then his façade cracked and he chuckled.

I tried to look heroic, and willfully failed. “If I don’t become a Talion, with that sort of story being told about me, I ought to be able to join any of the royal houses as a general or something, shouldn’t I?”

“I’d settle for nothing less than Warlord, were I in your shoes.” Devon calmed himself. “If you don’t make it—though I have every confidence in you—come to me first.”

I finished shoveling stew into my mouth as a manservant appeared and spoke with Devon.

“Wipe your mouth, Nolan. Lord Hansur has sent someone for you.”

I’d hoped Erlan would be my escort, but he was not. He’d been replaced by a novice Justice. He was my height and had hair so blond it was almost white. His eyes were a deep, rich blue. He walked a bit more arrogantly than Erlan had and led me back to the large black pavilion.

Everything had been cleared from the interior and a high dais had been raised in the center of the room. Seven banners, one for each Talion division, stood around the tent’s outer perimeter, and clerks sat behind tables next to each of them. I didn’t see the Hamisian clerk from the day before.

My guide led me to a spot near the death’s-head banner.

“Wait here until Lord Hansur is finished speaking. Then go to the banner and I will meet you there.”

I nodded and he left.

The tent filled up with people over the next quarter hour. Talion novices led people into the tent and steered them toward the banner of the division the person wanted to join. Everyone looked tired and yawns passed through the crowd in waves, but I could feel the excitement we all shared. The air almost crackled with nervous energy.

The general undercurrent of muttering faded when Lord Hansur walked onto the dais. He stood tall and a black cloak swathed his slender body in shadow. He threw it back over his left shoulder and held his hand up. The black leather jerkin he wore gleamed a dull red in the blossoming dawn light, and the cold, foreboding skull ensign on his left breast blazed brightly like the rising sun. Mirthlessly it grinned and stared at all of us fools who dared presume we could become Talions.

“These are your final instructions before you undergo your trial. Please understand that you may withdraw from the trial up to the point when the trial begins. If you fail your trial you may never again attempt to join the Talions.” Lord Hansur’s voice touched all of us deep inside and started a panicked flutter in my chest. Part of me wanted to run and flee along the escape path he offered, but I forcefully resisted that urge. I swallowed and stood my ground while others, from strong mercenaries to hunched clerks, bowed and left the tent.

Lord Hansur waited for those recruits to leave before he continued. “There are seven banners, one for each of the Talion divisions. When I give you leave you will present the sheet you were given to the Talion at the appropriate station. You will be told when your trial will be held. You are expected to arrive here a quarter of an hour before your trial and then you will be taken to the place where your trial will begin.”

The Justice lord stopped again to give everyone a chance to look around and find the banner they wanted. Some people edged toward the banners. The rest of us waited.

The Justice nodded easily as if calming a child’s fear of darkness. “All of you are nervous. This is understandable, so I will explain some of what you may face today or tomorrow. You will be tested for skills appropriate to the branch you want to enter. The trials, though difficult, seldom result in injury and only very rarely in the death of a recruit. The trial’s purpose is merely to determine if you know enough and can work well enough to become a Talion. You can only do your best—and failure, in that case, is no disgrace at all.”

My stomach tightened with his last words, and sweat broke out on my upper lip. For me there was no way to accept failure. A soldier who was refused by the Warriors could always find work, and a scribe would always locate a fat merchant who could neither read nor write. And even with Devon’s offer to me if I was rejected, I couldn’t help but feel that I’d be just a child with no direction or purpose in life. Of course I didn’t think of it in those terms at that time. What I saw before me, in that tent as Lord Hansur’s words kindled a torch of self-doubt, was a yawning void that threatened to swallow me the way it had my family. For me failure was worse than death, because I’d live and remember I had failed.

Lord Hansur’s last words brought me back and hinted at what I’d have to do to succeed. “I will not wish you good luck, because a Talion does not depend upon luck. Have courage and trust yourself.” He bowed to us, and we returned the gesture, then flew to our banners.

I reached the Justice banner before anyone else. The white skull on it was as big as my whole chest. I averted my gaze from its eyeless sockets and handed my parchment to the Services clerk seated at the desk. He looked at it, consulted a list, and wrote some numbers across the bottom. “Nolan ra Ha… Sinjaria?”

I nodded.

“Someone will come for you presently.” He handed me back the parchment and smiled. “No need, from what I hear, for him to wish you luck or courage.”

I blushed and looked down at my feet. “I’ll take either if I can get them.”

The clerk shook his head and turned to watch the rest of the tent. “You are a step up on all the others here. You’re too young to have the desperation of the older ones.” He pointed to some bent and white-haired people lined up to become Services Talions. “They’re afraid of dying. They work hard all their lives and have nothing for when they can’t work. For them the Talions are their last hope, and they live for the chance to be accepted by us. Those that fail will probably die before they ever return home again.”

“And the others, the soldiers,” he continued, “you would think they were smart enough to know they don’t belong here. Some have been trained by Talions stationed in other countries and they think they are as good as the Lancer or Warrior who tried to teach them enough so they won’t die the first time they face an enemy. If they were that good they would already have rank or would lead a band of mercenaries. They’re here because their pride tells them they have the skills to be a Talion.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Pride lies.”

My snowy-maned guide from earlier returned for the second half of the clerk’s discourse about the recruits. He snapped a harsh comment at the man. Though the words were foreign to me, the tone conveyed utter contempt for the clerk’s opinion. The clerk whirled around with his fists knotted; then the knots withered and he replied in apologetic tones. My guide made another comment and the clerk left.

The novice Justice held the skull banner aside and motioned me through it. I walked ahead for a step or two then waited for him to catch up. “Who will deal with the others who want to be Justices?”

He shook his head and then, with his left hand, brushed back the white bangs draped over his eye. “There are no others, Nolan ra Sinjaria. You are the only Justice recruit.”

He led me in silence to a smaller black tent with a white skull on the flap. The Justice held the flap for me and I entered. It took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. As the room lightened I saw a campaign chair, a chest, and some clothing laid out on the chest. Another Justice, a woman, sat in the chair. She waved her right hand, giving me a fleeting glimpse of the skull on its palm, and dismissed my guide.

I gave her my parchment. She read it quickly, then looked up at me. “These are your instructions. Remove your clothing and put on this loincloth and these sandals. They are the only clothing you will have in the trial. Once you have changed you will leave this tent and follow the course laid out and blazed with blue pennants. You must overcome the various obstacles in your path and collect these red strips of cloth. Gather as many as you can. You will be stopped at the end of your test and an accounting will be demanded. Do you understand these instructions?”

I looked at the strip of cloth she held and nodded. It was as long as my forearm and two fingers wide. Unless it was buried or otherwise hidden, I decided I could find something that bright shade of red fairly easily.

She stood, stepped through the tent flap, and left me alone in the tent. I quickly peeled my clothes off and tied the white loincloth on. It hung down to my knees in both the front and back. The soft, brown leather sandals laced all the way up to my knees. I tied them on tightly and wriggled my toes. Despite the chilly air that early in the morning, I felt comfortable. I mumbled a quick prayer to Shudath and walked through the rear flap of the tent.

Sunlight flooded into my eyes and a trumpet blast rang in my ears. I jumped from surprise and began running down the trail that stretched across a golden meadow ahead of me. It led down a small hill and then up to the woods that covered the northern side of the Tal Valley. I passed through the downhill quickly, still running with the nervous burst of energy the trumpet blast triggered, but settled into a more comfortable pace for the uphill. If this was to be any sort of a real test I knew I’d be running for a long time.

I realized that something about the trumpet call sounded familiar. Once my initial panic wore off, I sifted my memories and tried to recall where I’d heard that sequence of notes before. I concentrated and, almost instantly, it came to me. In Tashar, when I finally healed up enough to leave, the innkeeper, Orjan, played those very same notes as I walked away from his inn. He’d entertained me with war stories during my recovery and I knew he’d been a trumpeteer in the Tashari army. He told me how they communicated words and orders through different tunes, and those notes made up my name.

I sped up. They expected me ahead. That prospect both scared me and inspired me. I didn’t know what I’d face in the trial, but I resolved to do more than my best.

Dry, dusty grassland gave way to the misty, dark tunnels of a woodland trail. Rust-colored needles from the evergreens paved the path and light green ferns lined it. The forest smelled of pine and rich, loamy earth. Sunlight tried to pierce the thick canopy of leaves, and succeeded in a few scattered places, but still failed to warm the forest’s silent heart.

I ran along the path and saw nothing until a thin coating of sweat covered my body and pasted my black locks to my forehead. A wall of logs lay across and blocked my path. They had been roughly stripped of bark but were not finished and bristled with splinters. The wall stood almost as tall as me and the pair of logs lying off to the right of it suggested the height varied with that of the recruit.

I ran faster and reached for the top of the wall. My hands grabbed the top log and I vaulted myself up and over with my left hip just barely brushing the top. I was about to release and hit the ground running when I looked down.

A ten-foot-deep pit yawned open below me, ready to swallow me whole.

My left hand tightened and clawed into the top log. My left shoulder ground and popped as my body swung down and slammed into the wall. The collision jarred my teeth, exploded sparks in front of my eyes, and crunched the ribs on my left side. I hung there for a second, my body twisting like a corpse on a gibbet, and something stabbed into my left arm.

I reached back and up with my right hand and got a good enough handhold to take the pressure off my left arm. Pain shot up and down the injured arm. A long sliver of wood, as thick as an arrow, stabbed into the flesh of my upper left arm, just below the armpit, and a thin stream of blood trickled along and down my flank. I clutched the wound to my chest, felt below with my feet for any sort of a foothold, and found one with my right foot. I wedged my foot in the wall, then kicked out and jumped beyond the pit’s right lip.

Once on solid ground I dropped to my knees and took a better look at my left arm. The wood had not penetrated very deep, so I gritted my teeth against the anticipated sting and pulled the splinter free. I then tore a strip from my loincloth and bound my arm up. I moved my arm around in a circle slowly, testing it easily, and discovered, although it ached and probably could not take more of the same punishment, I’d not suffered a serious injury.

As an afterthought I looked around for one of the red strips of cloth I had to collect. Off to the left I spotted a small wooden box nailed on a tree. Inside it I could see a flag but, before I got back to my feet and approached it, a door snapped down over its front and locked the flag away. I’d lost my first flag!

I quickly examined the hardwood box and discovered a simple sand timer counterbalanced by some small weights. As the sand drained out of a small pail, the weights pulled the box lid down. The weights probably varied according to the age or expected speed of the recruit. The trumpet blast at the start, I guessed, told Talions to start the sand draining.

I started running again, faster than before, so I could regain some of the time I’d lost. That I’d missed my first flag bothered me because it was possible that I’d failed the whole trial at the first obstacle. I felt that wouldn’t be fair, but I had no guarantee the trial was meant to be fair. I could only hope one mistake would be forgiven.

I ran around a hill and down into a narrow ravine. The trail ended at a stretch of icy mountain stream. It started again about twenty feet upstream and the blue pennants lined the stream shores. Up where the trail began again I saw one of the flag boxes with its door half shut.

I suppressed a smile. In Sinjaria I’d lived near the Darkesh, so mountain streams held no novelty or fear for me. My brothers and I used to relax and swim in them whenever Father didn’t need us, and we were all good swimmers. Without hesitation I dove into the water and stroked toward my goal.

The cold water numbed the pain in my shoulder and I cut through it like a warship running before the wind. Drenched but exhilarated, I climbed from the stream and took my flag. I hooked it through the belt of my loincloth and started running again.

Had I not injured my shoulder, the next test would have gotten me. A half mile beyond the river, along a path that went up and down hills lying like a wrinkled blanket on the forest floor, I came to a long, deep pit blocking my way. A series of ropes hung from a log suspended above the pit by stripped-pole tripods at each end. The easy, and obvious, path across it was to swing from rope to rope, but my injury made that path impossible for me to even consider.

I shinned up one of the poles on my side and worked my way across the log holding the ropes. Midway I saw that the hook holding one of the ropes in place would shear off and drop into the pit if someone swung onto that rope. Suddenly the hole in my arm seemed not so much of a burden, because it saved me from this trap.

I located the box, gathered my second flag, and smiled, because the door on this box was not as close to shut as the door had been on the last one. I’d regained some time and that gave me a little heart. I filled my lungs with the fresh, living mountain air, fastened the flag to my belt, and resumed my run.

I almost missed the next flag. I guess it was meant as a test of observation. I’d been running for over half a league, a feat that would have been well beyond me had not my journey to Talianna trained me for it, and I felt very tired. Sweat covered me and some of it seared into my wound. It stung fiercely, as though some portion of the sliver was still in there. I knew I had to keep up my pace, to beat the timers, but I had to stop to retie the bandage and snatch at a moment’s rest.

A lightning bolt of pain forked through my arm as I tightened the blood-soaked cloth. I took one end of it in my mouth and tasted the salty-sweet blood as I knotted it off. I caught my breath and then, as I looked forward again, I caught a flash of red from the corner of my eye. Instantly I left the trail.

There, at eye level but half hidden behind the thick bole of an oak, hung a box with a flag. This door stood almost as open as the last one, and suggested the pace I’d set would stand me in good stead if I could keep it up. I took the flag, tucked it for safekeeping with the others, and raced on.

I found the next and final encounter, in a small, bowl-shaped dust flat between hills. I ran around a hill and entered the arena with the morning sun full in my eyes. Silhouetted on the hilltop across from me stood several adults, and although I couldn’t see their features, I thought I recognized Lord Hansur as the tall man in the middle.

Across the dustbowl from me, in a box high on a pine, sat the last flag. A Talion stepped from the brush at my right and tossed me a quarterstaff. Between me and the flag box another Talion, a novice my age, who wore the white sword ensign of the Warriors on his left breast, barred my path.

My heart sank. They’d matched me against a trained fighter with a staff. My “staff” training consisted of days spent whacking oxen who didn’t like plowing straight furrows, and my only fighting experience came from the rough-and-tumble wrestling melees my brothers and I always got into. If I’d not lost the trial on the first test, I knew it now lay beyond my ability to win at all.

Desperation and anger filled me. The utter frustration at having come so far to fall so short of my goal choked me. I cried out against it in an incoherent war cry, brandished the staff, and ran directly at my waiting foe. Though I had no skill, I could certainly batter him with my rage and defeat him. At least in that I could take joy and would win a small victory within my huge defeat.

Then, as the Warrior moved to oppose me, I remembered I wanted the flag. My goal was not to crack his head, but to pull that shred of cloth from the box on the tree. I was really fighting for time and a chance to get the flag. And that battle I could win.

I raised my staff like a spear, cocked my right arm back, and threw with all my might. The staff spun like a yarn spindle and flew directly at the Warrior’s face. With a look of contempt he parried my cast wide to my left. The staff skipped off his with a crack and tumbled to a rest in the dust. I veered for it and the Warrior shuffled over to block me.

As he moved, I cut for the flag box and put every ounce of speed I had left into my run. I heard him curse when he discovered my deception and he shot after me. I heard his footfalls right behind me and I imagined his breath on my neck. Exhaustion knotted my sides, but I thrust my pain aside and sprinted hard, even though I knew he gained on me with each step.

I felt him right behind me. I dared not look back, yet I knew, in seconds, he’d swing his staff through my weakening legs, trip me up and send me to the ground. He’d stand over me to knock me down if I struggled to get up off the gritty arena floor. The flag, so close, looked so far away. In my mind I had lost.

“No!” I screamed. I had not lost yet. I could not let me defeat myself.

I planted my left leg, stopped abruptly and stabbed my right leg out behind me. The Warrior impaled himself on my heel and folded around my leg like a slack sail wind-whipped against a mast. Air exploded from his lungs in a loud ooofff and his staff flew from limp hands.

The jarring collision knocked me sprawling forward on my face. Sand scraped and stung my chin and chest, crunched beneath my teeth, and made me sneeze. It coated me head to foot and each tiny grain seemed to weigh a pound in my exhaustion.

I slowly hauled myself to my feet. I moved as fast as I could, but my mind kept screaming that I had to move faster. I knew in my heart that the Warrior meant his groans to lull me into believing I had all the time in the world to get my last flag. I stumbled once, grinding more sand into my bleeding knees, then rose and limped toward the flag box.

Grimy and bloodstained, I grabbed the last flag. I locked it in a steely fist. My lungs burned and my body ached, but I had won. I’d gotten—no, I’d earned—my damn flags. I’d done my best and better than that. But was that good enough?

I bent down, rested my hands on my knees, and sucked in as much air as I could. Overhead the box snapped shut. I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear the beads of sweat running down my face. My pulse pounded in my ears and my head felt huge. Vertigo swept through me and I almost fell. Then I heard the sand crunch before me and I straightened up.

Lord Hansur stood there like the shadow of death. Behind him, a black shadow in the sun’s disk, only one figure remained on the hillock. Lord Hansur held his long-fingered left hand out to me. “The flags.”

I took the other three from my belt and handed all four to him. He dropped them into the sand as he counted them. To the left I could see the Warrior still rolled up into a ball, with two other Talions poised to help him, but they watched the flags fall as intently as I did. Each flag fluttered noiselessly onto the dusty basin floor, but I heard each impact with the thundercrack finality of a headsman’s ax falling on the block.

The Lord of Justices looked at me. “There are only four flags here. To become a Thirteen you require five.”

I crumpled inside. I could not breathe. Vertigo returned to drown me. My limbs trembled as the tension that had fueled them evaporated with my hopes and dreams. It was over, it was all for nothing. I’d done what they asked and I was rejected. I was finished.

Before I could organize my thoughts enough to remember I always had my other plan, the man on the hill spoke. His voice was not deep or commanding but all the Talions instantly paid attention to it. He spoke in the Talions’ own tongue. His short statement—if inflection meant anything—was a question.

Lord Hansur, who had never turned from me, nodded. “I have been instructed to ask for the fifth flag. The flag you used to bind your arm.”

A lump in my throat blocked any denial I could have offered. The fingers of my right hand trembled as I pried the knot loose and unwrapped the bloody rag from my arm. Dark brown where the blood had already dried, the rag in no way matched the other flags. Reluctantly, fearfully, I held the flag out. This was not my deception, yet I was terrified of the rebuke I’d earn for being a party to it.

Lord Hansur took the tattered strip and examined it as he had the others. Its length and ragged edges mocked the flags piled below it. Obviously torn from my loincloth, the spotty color and coarse weave proclaimed it an impostor. Stiff and twisted, it hung from his hand lifelessly. I could not have produced a worse forgery had I tried to do so.

Lord Hansur turned it over one more time, nodded, then dropped it with the others. He looked up at me and smiled. “Welcome to Talianna, Novice Nolan ra Sinjaria.”

______________________

If you’d like to purchase the entire novel from my webstore, you can click here; and if you’d like to buy the book through Amazon for your Kindle, you can click here.