Talion: Revenant Chapter Three

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. 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 decide if they want to buy a copy to support my writing the sequel. Thanks to everyone who has blogged about this effort—share the book with your friends, then we can all share in the sequel.

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Talion: Revenant is ©1997 Michael A. Stackpole

Chapter Three

Talion: Pine Springs

I awoke the next morning in Weylan’s cabin and, though I was anxious to start back on the trail, Elverda protested I was too weak to ride off immediately. Her persuasive argument had powerful allies in the hacking cough that racked my body from time to time—usually at the same moment I announced my total recovery—and her cooking. I agreed to stay for one more day and prayed the dry weather would hold out to preserve enough of Morai’s trail so I could use it in my pursuit of him and his men.

I spent the morning writing down an account of my actions in my journal. All Talions keep journals, though only Justices and Elites have them reviewed by their Lord on any regular basis. I also got Weylan’s version of what happened at the ferry station written up. Like most people, Weylan was illiterate, so Elverda wrote what he had to say on a page in my journal and they both signed it.

That afternoon I got out into the hot sun and chopped some wood. I felt weak at first but the sun burned the remaining illness from my body as I worked. I took great satisfaction in chopping the wood because, after dealing with a sorcerer and waking up not as dead as I expected to be, finding something that worked as I anticipated it would reassured me about reality. The sharp ax split the wood with a loud, surprised crack and sent the logs tumbling back away from me.

My decision to stay the extra day provided a bonus that made the delay more than worth it. Two tinkers came to the ferry in midafternoon and I helped Weylan tie their wagon to the barge for the crossing. The tinkers, both from Kas, gladly left that work to us and, without realizing I was more than Weylan’s aide, idly commented about their travels and the strange things they’d seen.

“And we even saw a Daari as we rode out of Pine Springs!” commented the elder, more rotund, tinker. “That was a nightmare. It took me back to the start of our trip.”

I looked up at his comment. Vareck, one of Morai’s men, was a Daari. The tinker’s observation gave me one place to start looking for him. If I set out directly for Pine Springs, I’d not lose a day traveling back to the camp to pick up his trail from there.

The sun was setting by the time Weylan and I got back from crossing the tinkers. We tied the ferry to the docks, washed ourselves off in the river and returned to the cabin. Inside Elverda stirred a large pot of bubbling stew over the fire and a fresh loaf of bread steamed on the table. She ladled out a bowl of the thick, hot stew for each of us.

Over the meal Weylan told her about the tinkers and the information they’d supplied me. “Nolan thinks he can pick up their trail from there before they head north to Memkar.”

Elverda nodded and smiled, but I read reluctance at my leaving in the stiff formality of her actions. I could

understand that, in some ways, because she and I were Weylan’s only true friends. For my part I had no doubt Weylan would well survive my departure.

Elverda stood and refilled Weylan’s bowl. “The Daari, they’re dangerous, aren’t they?”

I hesitated, laying my brother Arik’s ghost yet again, and then answered. “Yes, they are. The Daari are a very savage and superstitious people. They see the world as a demon-haunted place and themselves as the only people who can destroy those demons.”

Weylan frowned. “I think I saw one once, when I was very young. He was horribly scarred on his face.” Weylan shuddered and Elverda reached across the table to squeeze his right hand.

I broke a piece of bread from the slice in my left hand and dipped it into my stew. “The Daari believe that demons swallow the sun at night and then parade over the world working great evil. All the Daari are scarred at birth on the left half of their body. Each night the entire Daari population faces north as the sun sets. They expose the left sides of their bodies and the scarring is supposed to be so frightening to the demons that they avoid the Daari. In their haste to flee from these fierce folks, they do not devour the earth. The Daari even bury their dead on hillsides facing north so they continue their service to the world even after they are no longer living.”

Elverda passed me a pitcher of ale. “The Daari do not often leave their country, do they?”

I shook my head. “Not since the Demon Crusade, when two thousand Daari decided to rid the world of the Talions.” I showed them my right palm. “The Daari believe Talions are demon-possessed because of this mark. Our Lancers slaughtered their crusaders and captured the Prince leading the force. Since then the monarchy has avoided any overt concentrations of force. Right now the only Daari out of country are ambassadors, a few mercenaries, and one or two outlaws like Vareck.”

“What did he do?” Elverda frowned. “Surely leaving Daar is not enough of a crime to set a Talion on him.”

I poured ale into my cup and passed the pitcher to Weylan. “Daari elders drove Vareck out because he got a bit overzealous in his demon-hunting activities. Each Daari warrior is taught how to carve a spiritlance from a yew branch. They cover it with symbols to imbue it with the power to slay any demons possessing whomever the spear hits. The problem is the spear also kills the person housing the spirit. Vareck claimed his wife and two children were ‘possessed.’ He slew them and because he said they were possessed the act was not considered murder by his elders, so exile was the worst punishment they could inflict on him.”

“He’s killed others since, so he’s mine now.” I shrugged. “Local authorities normally would deal with someone like him, but since he’s begun traveling with Morai, he moves fast and has eluded his pursuit.”

Weylan frowned. “What would Morai want with someone like him? From the stories I would have thought Morai smarter than that.”

I nodded. “So would I, but Morai has always been full of surprises. This time around he’s gathered up a truly foul group of individuals, all of whom have significant bounties offered for them. I half suspect he’s been paid to lure them out where they can be killed.”

“Letting you take them and earn him his fee?”

“Possibly, Elverda.” I hesitated. This time I’d been sent after Morai and his people because of political unrest in Memkar. The Talions in service there reported a rumor that Morai had been hired to harass and weaken various families in the Gem cartel. The people he’d pulled out of Chala certainly could accomplish that feat, which in turn could hurt the government enough that ambitious nobles could tear the nation apart and induce invasions by neighbors in an attempt to stabilize things again.

And stability is something the Master of all Talions holds sacred.

I smiled at her. “Whatever Morai is doing, I’m certain he has multiple goals and multiple paths for attaining each. Nothing is ever quite what it seems with Morai.”

Our conversation turned away from things grim and ugly, and I let it go gladly. Weylan cleared the plates and we gathered the chairs in front of the fireplace. Weylan got out his lute and strummed his fingers across the strings. Both he and Elverda could play it, so the three of us sang songs long into the night. The evening passed quickly and pleasantly. It felt very good and I could only have hoped that if I’d not become a Talion my life could have been that happy.

Morning came a bit early, but other than lingering lethargy I felt very good and ready to travel. Elverda packed me some bread and cheese while I saddled Wolf. I hugged both Weylan and Elverda and promised to return to visit as soon as possible. With their wishes for good fortune ringing in my ears, I mounted Wolf and rode off.

Pine Springs lay only two days’ ride from the Broad River ferry. Nestled in the foothills of the Ell Mountains, the town was the first settlement south of the pass into Memkar. Though Pine Springs thrived on the caravan trade running from Chala north and back again, the limited prosperity kept the town modest in size.

On the first night out I left the road to camp at a point beyond where the trail from Morai’s camp joined the road. I found a spot back away from the road where I could make a fire without it being seen by any late travelers or bandits. The campsite had been used recently, and to my surprise I found two yew branches and a pile of shavings near the firepit. Vareck, or another Daari, had camped here.

I looked around for other signs and easily discovered another pair of tracks. This individual had harvested a number of plants from the surrounding woods. He didn’t leave much behind but I knew he’d selected poisonous plants almost exclusively. That told me the man traveling with Vareck was Grath ra Memkar.

Memkar is a strange nation. To an outside observer it appears normal, if a bit crowded. Many of the families are quite large and the Memkarians are blessed with long lives. These two factors combine, though, to make things difficult for ambitious younger members of the family. Helping a relative into the grave has become an accepted method of advancement if a patriarch seems reluctant to share his power and wealth with his kin. In most cases a mild illness brought on by poison is usually enough to wrest a share of power for a relative, but the nation is so full of plot and counterplot that only the poisoner can be sure who did what to whom.

Grath ra Memkar was a poisoner. The trick to his trade was not to get caught, because murder is still murder in Memkar. A professional poisoner has to be careful, and that word summed Grath up rather neatly.

Openly acknowledged as one of the best, Grath probably would still be working in his homeland had his last assignment not gone awry. His patron paid him for the deaths of the sire and eldest scion of a noble family. Grath managed to accidentally slay the whole family, so his employer, a noble who planned to marry into that family and acquire its wealth, refused to pay him. Grath retaliated and gave his patron a taste of the viper.

That rash act put others off and forced Grath out of Memkar. He traveled to Chala, where he poisoned thieves and extorted money from them for the antidotes. He probably would have stayed there, but Morai recruited him. Grath kept his skills sharp by visiting towns a day before the rest of the bandits would arrive. Not surprisingly, the town guards would become mysteriously ill and would be unable to harass the bandits.

That night I took very great care when I prepared my food. And, even though I did not face north as the sun went down, no demons came to disturb my sleep.

I reached Pine Springs in the late afternoon. I’d removed my black leathers and traveled in more traditional garb. I wore a dark blue linen tunic, brown trousers, and a brown vest woven of undyed wool. I was not certain Vareck and Grath still hid in Pine Springs, but it was a fair guess. Pine Springs, as small as it was, had a full city quarter devoted to taverns and boardinghouses catering exclusively to the transient trade. Those two would be anonymously safe there, for a short while anyway, so I chose not to reveal my identity before I knew where my quarry lurked.

The town guards didn’t even glance at me as I passed through the gate. Following a caravan up from Chala, I reined Wolf around and rode into the east end of town. The caravan passed through the foreign quarter toward the stableyards while I stopped at the first tavern I saw. I strapped my sword-belt on, paid a child a silver Provincial to take Wolf to the nearest stable, and promised him another coin when he returned to tell me where the horse was housed.

The rough-hewn wooden door centered in the tavern’s south wall opened and admitted me into a dark and crowded common room. The bar ran the length of the west wall, ending a few feet before the stairs up to the second floor. A small stage ate into the lower half of the north wall, and above it stood the balcony leading to rooms on the second floor. They could be rented for the night or just an hour’s company with one of the numerous women circulating through the crowd. A number of alcoves dotted the east wall and made me uneasy because I could not see past the thick curtains shielding them from the common room. Tables and chairs choked the common room, along with a thick cloud of sweat, the rumbling roar of conversation, and boisterous caravaneers.

I crossed to the bar and caught the bartender’s attention. He was a big man—still powerful though he was running to beerfat—who’d lost the last three fingers on his right hand. “Ale.” I deposited a silver coin on the bar. I held another in my left hand. “Is there a Daari about?”

The bartender set the wooden tankard down in front of me. The frothy ale sloshed over the lip, but he made no move to wipe it up. “Woman?” He shook his head. “No, we got no call for them.” He grabbed for the coin, but I shifted it to my right hand before his fingers closed on it. I raised my left index finger to my lips and opened my right hand.

His eyes opened wide enough that I thought his bloodshot orbs might fall out of his head. He saw my sign to silence, thought for a moment, and then nodded. He pointed to the shrouded alcove deep in the northeast corner of the room. I flipped him the coin and smiled grimly. He nodded nervously and obviously did not like the idea of conspiring with a Justice.

I turned and leaned back on the bar. I sipped the ale so I’d not look conspicuous and found I liked the woody bite of this particular brew. I weighed and rejected various plans of action. I wanted to take Vareck quickly and, if I could manage it, without too much notice. Taverns such as this one were home to all sorts of skittish people and their reasons for being on the road might not invite unwanted attention. Caution hung in the air and an unusual action by anyone would scatter the crowd like a herd of antelope.

Before I reached any decision on a plan, the room fell silent. A minstrel walked from an alcove more central than Vareck’s and mounted a short flight of steps to the stage. She seated herself on a tall stool and intently studied her lute for a second or two, then she looked out at her audience. She flashed us a warm smile that drew everyone’s attention.

Long blond hair reflected gold highlights even in the tavern’s dim light. A narrow nose, high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes made her very attractive, and her smile only increased her beauty. Someone to her right called out a song title; she laughed and shook her head. Her hair fell back and revealed her bare shoulders.

She wore a white, short-sleeved blouse off her shoulders. A royal blue ribbon trimmed its bosom and sleeve, and picked up the color of her eyes. A wide brown belt drew it to her slender waist, and a brown leather skirt, made of a patchwork of squares, fell to below her knees. A pair of well-polished riding boots completed her outfit.

She strummed slender fingers across the lute’s strings and filled the room with a familiar melody. “I am Selia ra Jania, and am very glad to perform here tonight. If you don’t mind, for my first song I’d like to play ‘The Peasant’s Revenge,’ ” she announced in a silken voice.

She’d chosen well her first selection, because it was a song popular throughout Ell and the Shattered Empire. No one gainsaid her choice. Hard, grim men closed their eyes and remembered days when they’d heard the song at home amid family and friends.

Grime and black soil

and years of toil

this a farmer doth make.

But give the boy

a warrior’s toy;

it’s a soldier they take.

She sang the song perfectly in the voice of the boy’s mother. She filled the words with passion and resentment at the boy’s forced enlistment by Imperial recruiters. Her voice rang with the mother’s pride when her son outsmarted the military wisdom of the day and earned himself a title by valorously winning a hopeless battle. Then she finished the song with just the right touch of contempt for nobility creeping into the final verse:

Awards galore,

carpeted floor,

he plans still in his keep.

For even now

new fields to plow;

bloody harvests to reap.

Thunderous applause greeted her song’s finish, and she accepted it graciously. I enjoyed the song a great deal and remembered it had been my grandmother’s favorite—one she always followed with a detailed recitation of the real-world facts behind it. For a moment I was able to forget who I was and why I stood in the tavern. I relaxed and clapped as heartily as anyone else.

Even though the first song was not overly demanding, it hinted at her range and abilities. I wondered if she would just sing old familiar and popular songs, or if she would try some newer tunes. Racing her fingers over silvery strings, she gave me little time to ponder my question. The notes, though I knew I’d not heard them played before, surprised me and then, as I identified them, made me cringe.

Selia smiled up at the audience. “Now a song some of you might have heard, and a song I’m proud of because I wrote it. It’s called ‘Morai’s Song.’ ”

A few patrons who’d heard it before cheered and I slumped back against the bar. Jevin had heard it on a trip, hummed the melody for me once back in Talianna, and laughed his way through the words to torment me. I locked a smile on my face and endured.

Ride, Talion, ride,

But ere you reach my side,

Slay yourself my brave man,

Then catch me if you can.

Morai’s man was dark and tall,

Had caused his father’s fatal fall.

“The Talion’ s mine, wait and see

I’ll nail his body to a tree. “

So he waited in a meadow green,

“Come Talion, my blade is keen.”

Challenged so the Talion drew his sword

And cut a man from Moral’s horde.

Ride, Talion, ride,

But ere you reach my side,

Slay yourself my man bold,

And catch me ere you grow old

Cull was quick and possessed great heart,

And well versed in the killing art.

“Sword or bolt, each kills quite well

Either will send the Talion to Hell.”

In an alley dark did Cull wait,

And open threats served as bait.

But he missed with the dirk he threw,

And the Talion cut old Cull in two!

Ride, Talion, ride

But e’re you reach my side,

Slay yourself this noble foe,

And catch me ere winter winds blow.

Eric prince, bastard and fool

Was just another Morai tool.

The Talion’ s head he swore to deliver,

And promised to taste the dead man’s liver.

Eric met the Justice with no fear

And passed on with a grin from ear to ear.

All the dupes with their lives did pay,

While Morai laughed and rode away.

Ride, Talion, ride,

But ere you reach my side

More men I’ll get and throw to you,

And you’ll never catch me when you’re through.

I joined the enthusiastic applause mechanically so no one would have any reason to look at me. My face felt on fire with embarrassment, and it surprised me the blush’s red glow didn’t bathe the back of the common room in lurid scarlet hues. I drank some ale to wash the cotton from my mouth and decided I’d wait and take Vareck whenever he decided to leave the tavern. After that song I didn’t want anyone to know a Talion stood in their midst.

Vareck denied me the anonymity I desired. He burst from behind the black curtain shrouding his alcove with spiritlance firmly grasped in his white-knuckled right hand. He stared at the minstrel and jabbed the steel-tipped stick in her direction. His position gave the audience, which had fallen into a stunned silence, full view of his left profile. Hideous, twisted scars and arcane symbols puckered the flesh on his left arm and face, making him more a monster than a man.

“You lie, that’s not how Morai is!” Spittle flecked his lips as he screamed at her. He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “I know!”

Fear leached the color from her face as Selia stared at him. She paused as if trying to decide if he was just an angry drunk or a serious threat, saying nothing that might antagonize him. No one in the audience made a move to stop the Daari, and wrapping his left hand around the spear’s shaft, he stalked toward her.

I stepped away from the bar. “Put the stick down, Daari, and leave her alone. She meant no harm.” I kept my voice even and tried not to threaten him. I acted like a man who merely wanted to calm the situation. “Come”—I smiled warmly—”I’ll buy you a drink.”

Vareck whirled and snarled at me. “Stay back. I’m a bad man. I ride with Morai.”

The people seated nearest the Daari slowly pulled away from him, and he growled at them. Everyone kept their hands away from their weapons and, if he’d been anything but a Daari, the situation would have cooled and been forgotten. But to a Daari, any insult, real or imagined, was demonspawn, and there was only one cure for that.

I swallowed hard. Vareck meant to kill her and would be as difficult as a hound with a good scent to deflect. She’d made herself a target, though she didn’t know it at the time, and his peculiar view of the world told him that killing her put him one rung higher on the ladder to paradise. Nothing could deflect him from that.

Nothing but a target that would earn him even more rungs.

I took one step toward him. “I’m afraid, Vareck ra Daar, you’re not bad enough.” I raised my right hand and showed everyone my palm. “I ride after Morai.”

The patrons seated around me shrank back and isolated the two of us on the floor. Vareck’s dark eyes glazed over. He shifted his grip and caressed the symbol-scored spear with a lover’s passion. The two blue feathers dangling by a leather cord from the spear’s butt twitched in rhythm with Vareck’s heartbeat. “I must kill you, Demonhost.”

I shook my head. “Why? You heard the song. Morai used you. Prove you’re more than just his tool.”

A handsome smile slithered onto Vareck’s face, but the scarred left profile ate into it like a disease. “Am I a tool, Talion? You know the saying, ‘A tool is a tool unless it does the job by itself.’ ” He tightened his grip on the spiritlance and pointed it at my heart. “I will do the job and you will then have your proof.”

He dropped into a crouch and I summoned my tsincaat. Vareck inched forward the shielded himself from my demongaze with his disfigurement. His spiritlance darted forward like a serpent’s tongue. The steel point—a handspan in length and a third that broad at the base—had only two edges, but both gleamed razor-sharp in the weak light.

The patrons overturned the rough wooden tables and, seating themselves in the shadows behind the walls of their slender, makeshift arena, showered both of us with encouragement and abuse. A puddle of ale roughly marked the center of our strip, but drained through the worn floorboard before it could become a hazard to hamper either one of us.

Gamblers in the crowd immediately called out odds and accepted wagers on our fight. They favored me initially—for who could stand against a Talion in combat?—but my support eroded quickly enough. One bettor pointed out that Vareck did ride with Morai and his weapon outreached my tsincaat. Someone else noted that the spear had spells on it to counter Talion magick, and in seconds the pundits determined one silver Provincial bet on Vareck would earn half again that much if he won.

I faced Vareck, wrapped both hands around the tsincaat’s hilt, and set myself. I carried the blade out in front, so the tsincaat protected me from head to groin, and slid my right foot slightly ahead of my left. I made no move to parry Vareck’s jabbed feints until he got near enough to actually hit me. He inched closer and closer, and with each shuffling step forward tension crushed in on me.

Vareck slipped into lethal range and delayed for a second. With one thrust he could reach my chest and punch the spirit-lance through it. A last second shift in his attack and he could guide his spear beneath a parry to transfix my right thigh. If he was quick enough, he could even pin my foot to the floor and batter me to death with a table or chair. A legion of assaults suggested themselves to him, and he tried to select the most horrible, because a Talion should die in agony.

He made his choice and started his attack. Then he shuddered, looked at me, and saw his mistake in my eyes, just as I read it in the slackened expression of horror washing over his face. He knew, even as his spear shot forward toward my chest, he was nothing but a tool.

I shifted forward on my left foot and twisted away from the thrust he aimed at my chest. His spear slid between my right arm and body, then retreated without touching me. Vareck raised the spiritlance and tried to parry my chopping blow, but the rune-decorated haft cracked and splintered. My tsincaat sheared through it to cleave Vareck’s collarbone and on into his chest.

The Daari lived for a second or two after he hit the floor. His lips moved, forming a curse, but the gurgle of blood filling his lungs drowned the words. His fingers held tightly to the broken ends of his spiritlance, then went limp and let the broken lengths of wood clatter to the floor beside him.

I knelt on one knee and closed Vareck’s eyes. Straightening up, I took the stained gray cloth offered by the barkeeper and wiped the blood from my tsincaat’s blade. Two men grabbed Vareck’s ankles and dragged him out of the tavern, while a third man followed behind them throwing down handfuls of sawdust from a bucket to absorb the bloody trail leaking from the bandit.

Around me the tavern returned to near normal. Conversation started again, men tipped tables upright, and servants scurried among the patrons to renew orders and refill mugs. They kept their voices lower than before I’d revealed myself, and a few patrons seated themselves in the deeper shadows of the room, but the fight had changed no one besides Vareck and me. And the minstrel.

I looked up and tried to catch her gaze, but she only stared at the spot where Vareck fell. Her lower lip trembled and her moonshadow-pale face looked devoid of life and emotion. I grabbed one serving woman’s bare shoulder. “Have you strong wine or brandy?”

She shivered and slipped her shoulder from my grasp. “Yes, Master Talion.” Her dark eyes dulled with fear and her lips quivered.

“Two goblets, then. Bring them to her alcove.” The woman hurried to the bar while I walked to the stage, leaped up, and filled the minstrel’s view. She started and looked up at me as if I were a ghost. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came.

I extended my left hand to her and tried to smile as reassuringly as I could. “Let us sit at your table.”

She stood without my help. I dropped my hand to my side and followed her from the stage. She walked stiffly, but with a certain hint of feline grace. She lovingly cradled her lute to her chest then, when we reached her alcove and she pulled the heavy, dark woolen curtain back, she laid the instrument gently on a soft-leather traveling case. She slid onto the bench beside it and I sat facing her across the table.

The serving woman returned with the brandy in two mugs and I paid her. I drew the curtain closed and cut the alcove off from the common room. The woolen curtain effectively muffled the conversation beyond it and left the thick, yellow candle burning on our round table to provide the only illumination in the alcove.

I gently pushed the goblet of brandy toward the minstrel. “He would not have slain you.”

She fixed me with an icy blue gaze. “I saw his face, I read his eyes. He was mad!”

I shook my head carefully and deliberately. “He was Daari. He was less disturbed about your song’s conclusion about Morai’s men than he was about being reminded a Talion still followed him. Drink some brandy. It will steady your nerves.” I sipped some of the brandy in my earthenware goblet and nearly gagged. I choked the brandy down and hastily coughed, “On the other hand, this might seriously damage them!”

Though unintentional, my distress jolted her out of remembering the look in Vareck’s eyes. She smiled for a moment, then raised her cup and sniffed the dark liquid in it. She wrinkled her nose. “You a Talion and they give you the cheap brandy? They cut this with Rian wine.” She shook her head and pulled the curtain aside to signal a servant.

She spoke quickly to a silhouette, then turned back to me. “If you play enough in places like this you learn what sorts of good wine and liquor hide in dusty bottles on the bottom shelf.” She hesitated, and I feared she’d sink again into her memories of the fight, but she made the conscious decision not to slide back there. “I must apologize. I am Selia, and I believe you saved my life. Thank you.”

I nodded and smiled. “You are most welcome.” I did not introduce myself to her by name, because Talions are most commonly known as Talion, by title, or by a military rank. Most people believe this is because names have magical power, and certainly that is part of the reason behind the policy. Even more so, though, is the desire to keep Talions apart and to make us a symbol of the services we perform. It did not matter which Talion killed Vareck, it only mattered that a Talion brought him to justice. Some Talions share their real names with no one outside Talianna. Others, like me, share it with good friends.

The servant, a fiery redheaded woman, brought us two goblets and a very old bottle. She carried away the mugs, and Selia wrestled the cork from the bottle’s neck. She poured, and candlelight sparked within the sweet amber liquid flowing from the bottle. She finished pouring, recorked the bottle, and raised her cup. “To a new verse for my song.”

I hesitated before I touched my goblet to hers. “And to Morai’s capture.”

With blue eyes half shut, she drank and studied me over the rim of her cup. Lowering the cup, she licked her lips. “Don’t you like my song?”

I smiled and let that answer for me while I thought about a reply and tasted the brandy. The liquor’s vapors filled my head. The drink tasted strong, very sweet, and burned its way down my throat. Warmth spread out from my middle and washed all memories of the previous swill away.

I set my goblet down on the table. “I liked your song as much as I admire your taste in brandy. I marvel at the accuracy of the song, and I certainly wish I’d not heard it first from a compatriot of mine in Talianna.”

Her eyes narrowed. “A Talion?” Then it hit her. Her face opened with a smile and a mischievous light sparked in her eyes. “The Fealareen! He said he knew the Talion in the song. He copied down all the words.”

I shook my head with resignation. “And probably suggested the verse about Eric?” Selia nodded in reply to my question and I sighed. “Yes, it was the Fealareen. Believe me, his version of the song was not nearly as well sung as yours.” Though I fought it I felt myself blushing again.

Selia straightened up and narrowed her eyes. The candle flickered and washed her face with shadows and faltering yellow light. “Does the song anger you?”

“No, I’m not angered by it.”

“Do you resent it, then? Do you not like it because it makes fun of a Talion?” She watched me the way she watched Vareck. She sat poised to pounce on any hint of anger or displeasure I felt with her song.

With my left hand I picked up my goblet and swirled the brandy. I broke eye contact with her and watched as the liquid rose higher and higher toward the rim of the cup. The vortex in the cup matched the one in my head. Her questions spun around, drawing me toward an answer I did not want to know, and that surprised me. She was headed toward territory I thought I knew quite well.

I looked back up at her and shrugged. “I’m a bit embarrassed that Morai and I have provided enough material for a song, but the words don’t bother me. If there is one thing I dislike it is how your song suggests Morai and I play a game of some sort with each other. I’ve killed almost a dozen of Morai’s men in the past, and none of them have been as easy to kill as two quatrains make it sound. I don’t play games with lives.”

Selia sat back and pressed her hands together palm to palm, as if in prayer. She raised them to her face and rested her chin on her thumbs as she stared at the candle. A rivulet of wax poured down the candle’s side and puddled on the table. Its surface had just enough time to cool and cloud before she spoke.

“I don’t know if I can believe you.” She saw the frown gathering on my face and opened her hands toward me. “Your points are well taken, but you are a Talion. You are used to people trembling and hiding at the sight of you. How can you not resent a song that suggests that you are not all-powerful?”

“I don’t resent a song that presents a Talion as fallible because I’m not omnipotent. I don’t like terrifying people.”

“Ha!” she laughed. “That is impossible.”

I shook my head. “It’s not impossible, and you already anticipated my answer in just the way you phrased your question. But you want proof more tangible than my denial.” I raised my arms to emphasize my clothing. “Surely an omnipotent Talion who desired to scare everyone in here would not degrade himself by wearing such normal clothing.”

“Your point.” She half laughed with a light voice. “When you spoke up I thought for a moment you might actually have been Morai. Are you sure you’re a Talion?”

I laughed and wearily nodded my head. “I grew up, to a certain extent, outside Talianna. I can remember, from before I became a Talion, the stories and tales that sent shivers down my spine.” I sipped more brandy. “I remember standing in a market in Sinjaria long ago when I saw my first Talion. Now I know the scrawny fellow was probably a mercenary who became a Warrior, but then he terrified me. He came no closer than ten feet from me, and never even turned in my direction, but my heart pounded and my breath came fast, short and shallow. If he’d looked at me, or spoken to me, I’m sure I’d have fainted dead way. Or worse yet I’d have run off, absolutely convinced a neighbor had reported me and my brothers for stealing a melon two summers before.”

Selia drank, let the brandy sit on her tongue for a moment, then swallowed. “I’m not convinced. You know the fear Talions hold for some people, but couldn’t that knowledge make having the power all that more seductive? Couldn’t you be more attracted to that power because you are no longer subject to it?” A smile crept onto her face and I knew she enjoyed toying with me.

I sat back and felt the cool plaster on the nape of my neck. “What you say is very true, but…” I leaned forward quickly, darted my right hand out, and grabbed her left hand. She started and twisted her wrist to escape, but I held on. Anger and fear flooded her face.

I released and she snatched her hand back to her breast. She rubbed one hand with the other. “Your palm, it’s so cold.”

I nodded and regretted acting on impulse. “I’m sorry. It’s cold, like the knot of fear I used to feel in my stomach. I knew then, and I know now, that I’d do anything a Talion ordered me to do, but I’d resent it because fear prompted my action. I’ve felt the fear you felt a moment ago, and I relive it whenever I see the terror I cause in someone. I decided long ago I would rather have one person work with me because I’d done him a favor and he called me friend, then have a hundred people work with me out of fear. A friend won’t run when a fear-slave will.”

A little of the fire crept back into her eyes. “Does that mean you never use fear?”

I smiled. “Given a choice I will not use it, but ‘Only a fool throws away armor before a battle.’ ”

Selia excused herself, picked up her lute, and returned to the stage. She performed very well and by the end of her second appearance she owned the crowd. The audience loudly applauded and she took them away, for minutes at a time, from the knowledge that a Talion lurked just out of sight. I apologized for any dampening of spirits I might have caused, but Selia reported the audience’s gifts of coins were quite generous so she had no real complaints.

Between her stage appearances we sat and talked. We talked about all the different places we’d visited and compared impressions of wonders we’d both seen. She recovered very well from the encounter with Vareck earlier that evening, but every once in a while I saw fear shoot through her eyes and detected a shiver running across her shoulders.

As the evening ended the tavernkeeper came over to the table. Smaller and less powerfully built than the bartender, he looked enough like the larger man, save the battle scars and maiming, to suggest they were kin. He offered me a private room—the only one he had available, he said as if pleased—but the pained expression on his face told me the real story. Inns like that were well used to packing a room with as many people as the bed and floor could hold, but no one wanted to sleep in the same room as a Talion, hence this miraculous vacancy. I accepted his offer, much to his obvious relief, and freely overpaid him well for the room. His son, the boy who had taken Wolf to the stables earlier, carried my saddlebags and gear up to the room.

Selia finished for the night and retired to her room. I left the common room shortly after she did, and quickly checked my room over for any surprises Grath might have prepared for me. Aside from fresh straw in the mattress and clean sheets on the bed there was nothing unusual about the room. I set a chair up by the door and another by the window so anyone trying to sneak into my room would trip over them, then unceremoniously dropped into bed.

I might not have fallen asleep the second my head hit the pillow, but I didn’t stay awake much longer than that.

Dawn light preceded the tavernkeeper’s timid knocking on the door by half an hour, so I answered the door fully awake and already dressed. The innkeeper hadn’t struck me as the type to be up so early on his own account, and the woolen sleeping cap perched forgotten on his head immediately suggested something very wrong was happening. I smiled to reassure him, but he caught sight of the death’s-head emblazoned on my jerkin’s left breast and that scared him almost as much as the emergency that had brought him to me.

“My Lord Talion,” he wheezed breathlessly at me, “the Lord Mayor’s Chamberlain is below. He wishes to speak with you.” He watched my face, and took no joy in the furrowing of my brows.

I waved a hand and dismissed his concern. “You have nothing to fear, I will deal with him.” I had no idea what the Lord Mayor wanted me for, but the innkeeper had no place in the middle of it. I laid my left hand on his shoulder and squeezed to put him at ease. His face lost some of that pinched, cringing quality and he scurried off to tell the Chamberlain I would see him.

I’d dressed in my black leather jerkin, with a black linen shirt beneath it, black pants and my riding boots; so the addition of my weapons belt completed my uniform. I buckled it on with tsincaat at my left hip and ryqril at the small of my back. Carefully and quietly I strode from my room so I wouldn’t awaken anyone else. I marched across the open balcony and without looking directly at the Chamberlain, I formed my first impression of him.

His escort, two city guardsmen, stood at attention on either side of the chair he’d seated himself in. Every buckle and badge on their uniforms sparkled. Neither of the young men, though handsome and well groomed, had the look of veteran fighters. Nothing more than an honor guard, the Chamberlain clearly used them to gild his image and inflate his own sense of importance.

An older man, the Chamberlain had aged very well. His light brown hair, with touches of gray at both temples, gave him a distinctive look of power and success. He did not slump or sprawl in the chair; instead he held his lean body upright and unbowed by the years. He wore one ring on each hand, and his hands were long-fingered and clean. Cloth of gold shined through the slashed sleeves of his deep blue velvet robe, and trimmed it at the throat.

He remained seated and did not react as I stalked down the stairs. I stopped ten feet from the Chamberlain’s honor guard and gave them a smile of sympathy. They looked from me to the motionless Chamberlain as if to ask if he required their services during our talk, but the Chamberlain gave them no sign. I saw them look over at the bartender and the tavern’s first few customers; then I nodded my head and freed them to get a drink.

Each took a half step away when the Chamberlain’s right hand came up. They froze in their tracks. Then, continuing the languid motion with which he’d raised the hand, the Chamberlain flicked his wrist and sent both men off. The guards blushed and retreated from both of us.

I stared into the Chamberlain’s brown eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“We have come in the name of the Lord Mayor of Pine Springs.” He kept his pleasant voice even, yet his tone suggested he felt me an inferior. “We have Grath ra Memkar. We hold him preparatory to his execution at your hands.”

My eyes narrowed and I sensed a trap closing around me. “You have him, you may execute him. You do not need me or even my permission. In fact,” I smiled, “that means I can head off after Morai all the sooner.”

The Chamberlain nodded understandingly. “We wish it were that simple, Talion, but we require your unique method of execution. Grath has certain information we dare not risk exposing to necromancers. We believe we have the right to request his death of you.”

I shut my eyes and rubbed my right hand over my face. His request kept within the list of things a local ruler could ask of a Talion. Occasionally a leader would ask a Talion to pull the soul from a spy or similar individual with dangerous information, but most found other ways to make sure the necromancers never got to the body. I did not want to execute Grath in that manner, no matter what he knew, but I’d have to argue that out with the Lord Mayor, not his messenger.

I nodded. “When and where?”

“Noon today, in the square before the Lord Mayor’s house.” A vulpine grin snapped up any look of innocence the Chamberlain might have tried to muster.

My heart hurt. They wanted a public execution, and that I flatly refused to give them. “I’ll be there early because I want to speak with the Mayor before Grath dies.”

The Chamberlain inclined his head in a respectful nod, collected his guards, and withdrew. Once he left the room the bartender came over and offered me a small glass of Temuri shaisha. I tossed the glass of liquid fire off without thinking, then signaled him for something to quench the burning in my throat.

The bartender laughed in a booming bass voice. “Thought the shaisha would get your mind off that pompous ass. I was hoping your Grath would kill the Chamberlain out of spite before he was caught.”

I gulped down some of the ale in the tankard the bartender handed me, coughed, and frowned at him. “What? You knew Grath was working here in Pine Springs?”

The bartender took a step back, then relaxed as the tone of my voice revealed surprised with no hostility. “Aye, I did and so did most of the rest of the town. He and the Daari came in a while back, three, four days now, and Grath read the political situation like I can read Dhesiri track. There’s two factions in town; the one that’s out of power is close to replacing the one in power and probably will the next time the full Council of Merchants meets. Grath offered his services to the Chamberlain to deter some of the opposition in return for enough money to buy passage for himself and Vareck safely through Memkar.” The bartender shrugged. “Anyway that’s what the Daari said one night when he’d drunk himself deep into his cups.”

I nodded and sat there stunned. I had no doubt Grath could sort out local politics and offer the right people his services. Morai probably had recruited him as much for his knowledge of Memkari politics as his skill as a poisoner. I also found it easy to believe a man like the Chamberlain would make use of Grath to solidify his own position, but the temerity of the Chamberlain to come and demand I kill Grath so none of this information would get out—that was nothing short of incredible.

I narrowed my eyes, sipped the ale, and let the world fade from my consciousness. The Lord Mayor wanted Grath’s execution to be a public spectacle, and probably hoped it would reinforce the image of his power in the minds of his people. I nodded slowly as a plan crept from the crueler reaches of my mind. Indeed, the Lord Mayor and his people would learn something that day about power.

At my request Selia joined me for my audience with the Lord Mayor of Pine Springs. At first I thought he might be nothing more than the Chamberlain’s puppet, but my first look at him shattered that myth. A bulbous man with thinning black hair, he wore both a moustache and gaudy clothing that gave him a foppish demeanor. Even so, the look of animal cunning in his dark eyes told me who really controlled Pine Springs.

The Lord Mayor sat in a chair upon a dais in his private chambers. His Chamberlain stood at his right hand, and a few other advisors stood at his left. Through the window to my right I saw the guardsmen force the crowd back away from a hastily erected scaffold.

I bowed my head to the Mayor. “Your Honor, I would like to present Selia ra Jania. I brought her here as my witness to what we discuss, though I have her pledge she will tell no one what was said unless my Master requires testimony of her.”

The Mayor looked at her and dismissed her as inconsequential or easily murdered and watched me. “We are pleased you have agreed to execute the prisoner.”

Muscles bunched at my jaw. “I have not agreed to execute Grath in the manner I believe you desire. I will kill him, but I will not rip his soul from him.”

The Mayor skewered the Chamberlain with a look of pure venom, then leaned forward and pointed a finger at me. “You will use your power on him, Talion, you have no choice. We will not have the secrets he learned—information garnered by deception—pulled out of him by some necromancer.”

I breathed out slowly to calm my rising ire. “I understand your concern, my Lord Mayor, but you can burn his body, or chop it into little bits, or boil his brain to get the same effect. I will oversee whatever method you want to use, and I will make certain your secrets are safe.”

The Lord Mayor shook his head with increasing vehemence. “Your assurances will not do, Talion. We desire no chance of reconstruction possible. Who knows what spells he’s already had cast upon him to enable a sorcerer to bring him back to life?”

I forced myself to laugh derisively. “So, you believe witch-wife rumors and faery tales. That cannot happen….”

“It cannot happen if you pull his soul from his body.” The Lord Mayor knew he had me trapped because, whether or not his request was genuine, I had, ultimately, no choice but to-honor it. “You will go down there and execute him now!”

I turned to Selia. “Please note I have offered alternatives to this ritual execution, and the Lord Mayor has rejected them.” I spun back and faced him. “Put it in writing to my Master that you have given me no choice but to pull his soul from his body and seal it.” I stared at him. “You disgust me.”

The Mayor glared back at me. “But you must do what we tell you to do.” He dictated the message to a secretary, then signed and sealed the message himself. He handed it to me and I tucked it in my jerkin.

We left the Mayor’s chamber behind two guards and passed through a throng to reach the scaffold. I waited for Selia to reach the top of the platform before I climbed up. Behind me came the Mayor and the Chamberlain. Grath already waited for us on scaffold.

I felt sorry for Grath when I saw him. A slight man, one well built for court intrigues and unnoticed poisonings, Grath had been bound with heavy chains that shortened his stride into a clanking shuffle and forced him to stoop. The instant he saw me he knew why he’d been betrayed by his employers. He snarled at them and shook his head.

He cast a sideways glance at the Chamberlain and the Lord Mayor, then spat on the ground. He looked up at me and I nodded almost imperceptibly. I wanted him to know I’d have taken him cleanly, and that I’d give him a quick death. I also wanted him to know I shared his opinion of his former clients. That’s a great deal of message to put into a moment’s worth of movement, but Grath returned the gesture and I knew I’d been understood.

I waited for soldiers to wrestle two chairs up onto the stage for the Mayor and the Chamberlain before I began. I walked to the edge of the planking and stared out at the sea of heads. Although clouds shrouded the sky with a promise of rain, and the chill wind puckered the flesh, people packed the courtyard and had even climbed out on the roofs of the buildings surrounding the square. I raised my right hand and waited until the murmur died before I spoke.

“I am a Justice. Many of you have heard I took a man in the foreign quarter last night. That is true. He attacked me. I slew the Daari with my blade.” I half turned back toward Grath. “This man was the Daari’s companion, and the Chamberlain informed me this morning of his capture. The Lord Mayor tells me Grath ra Memkar has learned some important secrets, and he has given me no choice but to execute the prisoner.”

Many people nodded in agreement, but no one shouted a comment or otherwise drew attention to himself. Bile boiled up in my throat and I almost broke off the course I’d set for myself. I really didn’t want to use the citizens of Pine Springs so badly, but I refused to execute Grath just to satisfy the whims of a dictator.

I lowered my voice. “Before I do what your Mayor forces me to do, I wish to apologize to you.” My words shocked silence from the crowd, but an explosion of thunder burst in to fill the void. A light drizzle started to fall and I continued. “I want to apologize now to you all because I will be too busy to apologize to each of you later. Please understand what I do is not personal, it is a duty forced upon me.”

The people below me watched each other nervously and sought support. They’d come to watch a Talion kill a poisoner, but now the Justice apologized to them for actions he would take. My words confused them and worried them.

I frowned and looked puzzled at them. “Do you mean you do not know why I apologize? Do you not know what I must do after I pull his soul from his body, as your Lord Mayor requests?” I stared down at them, and they up at me like drowning sailors bobbing in a storm-racked sea. Rain fell harder and mingled with the tears on some faces. Disembodied voices demanded an explanation from me.

I nodded solemnly. “When I pull his soul from his body, in just retribution for the murders he has committed, I will see everything he has seen, and I will know all he knows.” I pointed to Grath. “I will see any crimes he has seen, then I will be bound to execute those criminals in the same manner. I will absorb their knowledge and have to act upon it. I will do this until I see no more evil.”

I shook my head ruefully and pulled the Mayor’s letter from my jerkin. “I would not have it so, but your Mayor gives me no choice in the matter.”

Thunder cracked again and the crowd surged forward to slam into the scaffold’s base. The platform pitched and both Selia and Grath fell to the wooden planking. The Mayor stood, then stumbled, but the Chamberlain managed to keep his feet when he rose from his chair.

The Chamberlain angrily stabbed a finger at me. “You cannot do this.”

“Quiet, puppet, your master has given me my orders. I have no choice but to obey him.” I stared down at the Mayor as a sheet of rain scourged him, and a lightning flash highlighted the fear on his face.

“No, Talion, you do not have to execute him.” The Lord Mayor levered himself up from the stage. “I rescind my command.”

That quieted the crowd for a second, but I dashed their hopes with a harsh laugh. “Oh no, my Lord Mayor, you cannot change your order. I gave you a chance before, and you ignored it. Now I suspect you or your Chamberlain of having reasons you do not want me to take Grath’s mind. No, I must obey your order because”—I pointed at Grath—”his memories are the key to evil in this town!”

The crowd, goaded by a fork of lightning slamming into the tower atop the Mayor’s residence, pressed forward again and tilted the platform. The Chamberlain drew a dagger from within the sleeves of his wet robe, leaped over the fallen Mayor, and dove at me. He screamed an inarticulate cry and slashed wildly as I backed from his attack and spun. I lashed out in a roundhouse kick with my right foot, caught him behind the ear, and smashed him into the crowd waiting below.

The people beneath the Chamberlain scrambled out of his way, or pulled themselves from under his body as quickly as they could. I heard one man say “His neck is broken!” and that message passed through the crowd to release their tension and give them a moment’s pause. The death they’d all feared at my hands appeared among them in a tangible form and momentarily refocused their concerns internally.

“Hear me, citizens of Pine Springs!” I shouted. I pointed to the Chamberlain’s dead body. “There is your evil. I have found it, and taken it, without needing to use extreme methods. The suspicions I had earlier, those that prevented me from accepting the Mayor’s gracious offer, have been satisfied. You should consider yourselves lucky that a town of this size harbors evil so easily dealt with.”

The crowd melted away as if the downpour eroded them. I stood and watched them like a statue until they vanished, then I turned and glared at the Mayor. “You and I both know some of what the Chamberlain wanted to keep hidden. Poisoning, and conspiring with a poisoner, is a capital crime in Ell. None of my superiors would fault me for taking you here and now, and many of them will chide me if I don’t. But I think you deserve another chance.”

The Mayor, still on his knees from his earlier fall, reached out and grabbed my rain-slicked jerkin, then released me. “I’m sorry, I meant you no offense or disrespect. I was wrong. Yes, anything. I will do anything.”

“Good.” I pointed to Grath. “Behead him, then strike his chains and bury him below this spot in the courtyard. You’ll build a monument here. That monument will remind you that all power is nothing if it is wielded selfishly.”

“Yes, Talion, yes, I will do it….” The Mayor’s sobs swallowed his words. Then wind and rain blasted all nobility from him. I turned from him and descended into the nearly empty courtyard.

One street away Selia called out to me. “Talion.”

I stopped and waited for her. She fell in step with me and we walked in silence until we reached the transients’ section of Pine Springs. There the rain eased and a shaft of sunlight lanced through the clouds.

“Talion, would you have done what you threatened? Would you have gone through this town and slain everyone?” Fear tinged her question, but she asked it honestly.

I reached out, with my left hand, and touched her gently on the shoulder. “Does it matter what I would have done? I am only here to administer justice. I think Pine Springs has had enough of that, with any luck, to last them for generations.”

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