Chains of Mist (35 page)

The man took a few steps into the clearing. A second similarly-garbed figure followed him, this one a female Shalator. Her gaze swept the clearing, as unhurried as her companion. She made a gesture with one long-taloned hand and said something to her companion in her native tongue, a harsh, clipped language that had always set Roger’s skin on edge. Then she too stepped away from the ship, the sinewy wings folded against her back rippling in what Roger knew was the Shalator equivalent of a deep breath.

Roger waited for more of them to emerge, but for several long moments none did.
But does that mean that they’re it? Just two of ‘em? Probably not…but if I can take out these two, that gives me a much better chance of beating the ones waiting on the ship than if I wait for all of ‘em to come out. Plus I probably can’t beat more than two in such an open space; if I wait for more, I’ll have no chance at all.
Roger tensed for the strike, mere moments away from lunging out—

Then a third person walked down the ramp. An old man wrapped in a brown cloak.

Talan.

Roger froze. Not only did Talan not appear to be bound in any way, but the others didn’t seem wary about being in his presence. They weren’t watching him at all; nothing about their movements seemed to indicate that Talan was their prisoner.

Nor was Talan
acting
like a prisoner. The wizard seemed slightly ill at ease, but his focus was not on the others; rather, his gaze was fixed firmly on Nembane Mountain.
And if they’re not worried about him, and he’s not worried about them, then that means…

The man glanced over at Talan and said something that Roger couldn’t make out. The old man’s reply was equally quiet, his voice calm. He pointed towards the mountain, the air in front of his finger shimmering with some kind of sorcery, and the man nodded.

Their short exchange eliminated all of Roger’s doubts.
The reason they’re not acting like enemies is that they’re not.
Anger swelled within him.
And that means Talan
knew
they’d be here—he
let
me get attacked and stranded in the wilderness. He was working with them the whole time! And to think that I trusted him—

Then something else suddenly clicked in Roger’s mind. Something almost too terrible to contemplate, but which he knew instantly had to be true. He remembered what Talan had said to him back on Pattagax: “
You will not find the Legion…but perhaps they will find you.
”

And then he all but forces me to come to Espir, where these red-uniformed soldiers are waiting to attack me. Me…but not him.

Red-uniformed soldiers.

Blood Legion.

Rage greater than anything that he had ever felt burgeoned within Roger, growing until he felt as though he would burst. His hands clenched into fists, and his spear snapped like deadwood. Blood pounded in his ears, and a red film of fury obscured his vision. Jolts of electricity crackled spasmodically from his ring, and pain swept through his hand, but he did not care.
He lied when he said he didn’t know where the Legion was based. He
knew
they were here—he
knew
the whole time! And he let them attack me! He let them take me!

He’s working with them. My enemies—and he’s working with them!

He will pay for this! Fires of Muntûrek, he will pay!

Throwing aside the broken fragments of his spear, Roger strode out into the clearing. The voice that emerged from his mouth was more bestial than Human.

“TALAN!”

The three of them turned as one. The Shalator whipped out her weapon, aiming it at Roger, but Talan stayed her hand. The man stepped forward, placing himself in Roger’s path. “The wizard is not to be disturbed—”

Without pausing, Roger unleashed a punch that lifted the stranger clear off his feet and sent him smashing to the ground a few meters away.
You picked the wrong guy to mess with today, pal,
thought Roger darkly. The Shalator moved to defend her fallen comrade, her weapon still trained on Roger, but he ignored her. She did not concern him; her presence and the danger she represented only registered faintly in a remote corner of his brain.
Either she’ll shoot or she won’t; it doesn’t matter to me.

Talan still hadn’t moved. Roger took another giant stride towards him, reaching back with a punch that would break the wizard in half. But he collided with some unseen shield, and at the same time he sensed cords of arcane energy snaking out to imprison him. He twisted away, snarling and spitting like a rabid beast.

“Fight me!” he roared as the icy grasp of bonds stronger than any that could be forged by technological craft encircled him. “Fight me, you coward!”

An almost tangible power echoed in Roger’s voice. Talan still said nothing. “You
lied
to me!” yelled Roger. “I
trusted
you, and you betrayed me!” Unable to turn his head or move his legs, Roger spat derisively, and drops of saliva spattered against Talan’s robe. “I oughta gut you like a
lokka
,
you piece of—”

“Your anger is understandable,” interrupted Talan softly. “I am not proud of what has happened, and I offer no excuses for my actions…but neither will I apologize for them. Some things, even I am powerless to act against.”

“Oh really? ‘
You were powerless to act,
’” mimicked Roger, his voice ugly with biting sarcasm. “Then explain this, pal—how come you’ve been here, with the
enemy
, while I was stranded in the forest? I nearly died—more than once, and in horrible ways, I might add—and then I come back here to find you—with
them
? Those guys are the
enemy
, and you’ve got ‘em eating out of your hand. Whaddya say to
that
?”

Talan sighed, and Roger felt a growing sense of savage triumph.
Got him this time; let’s see him talk his way outta this one.
“That is…complicated,” the wizard said finally. “To begin with, the Blood Legion soldiers who have joined us are hardly ‘eating out of my hand’. They are here because I was able to convince the Legion Admirals of the danger we face—temporary allies, no more.”

Once again, he gives me an answer that only raises more questions.
“Okay then. Well, if they’re just ‘temporary allies’, then you won’t mind if I slice up a couple of ‘em then, will you?”

“Roger, stop this foolishness. I understand that what happened to you was terrible, but taking out your anger on these soldiers will do you no good. They are not your enemy.”

“Yeah, well it looks like they’re gonna have to do, doesn’t it?” The sarcasm dropped away, and Roger’s rage came roaring back. “They all look the same to me. Since it doesn’t look like I can dice you up—believe me, I’d
really
like to right about now, but that doesn’t seem to be an option—I’ll take what I can get. And that means your friends here are in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe they weren’t responsible, but I’ll bet at least one of them knows something about what happened to me, and I swear by Muntûrek’s flames I’ll cut ‘em down one by one if that’s what it takes to get someone to talk!”
And I mean it. I don’t make that oath lightly.

Your move now, old man.

And in the face of Roger’s fury, Talan flinched.

It was barely perceptible, a slight tightening of the shoulders beneath the brown robe, but Roger saw it.
Gotcha
. The old man turned, and Roger could finally see his face.

He looked so…
old
. So tired. “That will not be necessary,” he said in a voice as soft as wind rustling over desiccated leaves. “I know why you lost your memories.”

“You know? You know!” Roger writhed against the invisible chains holding him, shaking like a man possessed, which was not so far from the truth. “Those are
my
memories, not yours—what makes you think you have the right to keep them from me!
What
, Talan? Answer me—
what
!”

Talan bowed his head. “You are right, Roger Warbanks. I offer no excuse, for there is none. You have the right to know the truth.”

“So tell me!”

“I will do more than that, Roger.” Talan lifted a hand, and a bright light suddenly ignited in his palm. “I will show you.”

The light expanded, flooding out to engulf Roger. Instinctively, he closed his eyes—

And opened them to behold a scene from a forgotten past.

Roger stood upon the surface of a dying world. Rain and fire plummeted down around him, scorching a landscape already pockmarked with a thousand gaping fissures. In the skies above, a shattered moon loomed impossibly large, so close that it seemed he could reach out and touch its blasted surface. Beneath him, the ground shook with tremors, and cracks appeared not five meters from his feet. He leapt back and felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

He turned, and saw Talan. The old man, light shining through his ethereal form, pointed at a ruined building in the distance. “Come,” he said, and before Roger had a chance to respond he found that they were inside the ruins.

And they were not alone.

A man stood with his back to Roger and Talan. He had the build and stance of a warrior, and he wore the red and black uniform of the Blood Legion. In his hand, he held aloft a pulseblade, the weapon crackling and hissing as rain spattered along its electrified length.

The man’s gaze was fixed on a shadowy spot a few meters in front of him. “I will not fight you,” he said. “It doesn’t have to end this way.”

A second man emerged from the shadows—

And Roger saw himself, five years younger. The same, yet different, and Roger realized that this man’s eyes were not haunted by despair.
He knows who he is, and was, and could be.
Like the first man, the young Roger wore the uniform of the Blood Legion and wielded a pulseblade. “It is too late for that,” the young Roger said. “You have made your choice…and I have made mine.”

The first man tossed his weapon aside. “You won’t kill an unarmed man,” he said. “You’re better than that—I
know
you are. Don’t do this.”

The young Roger gave a cruel smile. “You know nothing,” he said. “That was always your problem. If you will not fight me, then you will die.”

And he suddenly lunged, blade extended, to cleave through skin, through flesh, through bone.

Roger watched with horror as the first man gave a sigh and slumped to the ground.
No. No! It can’t be true! It’s impossible!

The young Roger stared down at the corpse, and in his voice there was nothing of regret or sadness. “Good-bye, my friend.”

With a flash of light, Roger stood on Espir once more.

“I am sorry, Roger,” said Talan softly. “I wish there was another way. But there is not—there is only the truth.”

“No, no, no.” Roger stared at Talan with unseeing eyes. He felt as if the earth had suddenly dropped beneath his feet, as if the very air itself had gone barren and dead. He staggered back, his gaze still fixed on Talan—but all he could see was himself, killing an unarmed man.
Not just that—a companion, a
friend
. And I killed him. I killed him!

No—NO! This has to be wrong! It has to be!

But he knew it wasn’t. He knew, deep in the innermost part of his soul, that what he had seen was true.

From behind him, Roger heard footsteps. He turned his head, the world spinning wildly before his eyes, and saw more Blood Legion soldiers appearing from inside the ship. A Valancian, huge and menacing, yellow eyes glimmering on his snake-like head, gave a roar and began to draw a weapon from its back, but suddenly Talan was there, holding back the alien’s scaly hand. Roger stumbled back, bile rising in his throat; he retched, but nothing came out. He heard the wind in his ears, the chirping of birds, the rushing of streams—all of it harsh and pitiless, accusing him, condemning him.
You did this!
they said.
You deserved this! You, Roger Warbanks—you!

A veil seemed to fall across his eyes. Through it, there was only darkness and despair.

No—this isn’t how it was supposed to happen! I have seen this moment in my dreams; for five long, lonely, empty years, this moment has sustained me. It was supposed to be triumphant! To know the truth—that was
everything
. But not like this.

Not like this.

Revulsion swept through Roger. He raised trembling hands up to his face, staring at them with unbridled horror.
With these hands, I killed one of my own. With these hands, I sealed my fate.

The veil lifted, and again—
no, for the first time—
Roger could see.
The truth—the ugly truth. The truth I thought I wanted—and here it is.

And it is worse than I could have ever imagined.

A voice reached his ears, soft but with an undercurrent of anguish, of empathy. “Roger, the truth was always there. This changes nothing. You must not—”