Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (5 page)

“Well,” said Katryna. “
That
was rather awkward.”

Will absently ran his fingers through his hair but said nothing, his good mood evaporating like so much steam.

“Will,” Katryna said quietly, leaning in close so that only he could hear her words, “don't think too hard on it. There's no way she could understand—she's only a child.”

“Do you...do you remember the Pass?” he asked, the phantom image still staring at him from the recesses of his mind.
Why is that happening so much lately?
he wondered. Katryna hesitated for only a moment, but then gave a short nod and cast her eyes down at the table as though ashamed.

Will stood abruptly, stumbling as his foot caught on the leg of his chair. He needed to be alone, he decided. Away from the press of people. Katryna did not look at him, but Hook cocked a questioning eyebrow. “I'll be back in a bit,” Will said by way of explanation, unable to meet the thin man's gaze. “Maybe.”

It was far more difficult, though, to escape the unending crowds when everyone recognized him. The rest of the evening passed in a blur, and though he wished desperately to be by himself Will soon lost count of how many women—young and old—he danced with, and consequently how many he had to evade. He had just finished ducking out of sight from one when he heard a raucous voice behind him yell, “Tha's the one, right there! Him! Our man Will! He took on ten men by hisself and came out wif not even a scratch! Ha! A right madman, he is!” Will turned to see a fellow mercenary—heavily inebriated, judging from the mug in his hand—leading a pack of grinning village men over to him. They grabbed him a moment later and lead him to the nearest drink stall.

“I could join your army, you know,” a particularly big one growled, leaning in close to Will. “I'm a blacksmith, so I know how to beat things with a hammer.” He guffawed, and Will assented with forced cheer and a tired nod.

He waited until the other men had all tipped their heads back after the first toast before slipping away and escaping into the crowd...and right into another pack of doe-eyed city women. As he danced with them, he found himself wondering idly whether it was possible for them to expose their breasts any further. As he soon found out, much to his dismay, it was—and then he was rescued by a particularly burly man who seemed to have an unhealthy fascination with Will's hammer and sword.

He finally found peace from the sea of chaos when he ducked behind a drink wagon after escaping from an old grandmotherly figure who wanted to give him a bag of silver marks. “My life's savings,
mettonário
,” she had said in a voice trembling with age. “I've no children, no family. You deserve this,
young sir. I hear you are a hero.”

“No—please, I can't take that,” Will had replied. What kind of man would he be if he took money from an old woman? Something very bad, he was sure. The Gefanites would have a field day with such a sin. But then a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Listen,” he said, “there's a little girl named Priscilla. She has an older sister, and her father was beaten by the city guards. They need the money more than I do. I don't know how to find them, but Priscilla has curly golden hair.”

“Priscilla,” the old woman said slowly, her foggy eyes going momentarily distant. “A blonde girl...yes, the one who helps her mother, the seamstress.”

“Sure,” Will said. “Please give it to them. They need it much more than I.”

“Such a good man,” she had said, beaming up at him and then hobbling away.

Now he leaned his back up against the wagon wheel and slid down its length, breathing a sigh as he hit the ground with a heavy thud. He lowered his head and closed his eyes.
A bag of silver,
he thought, huffing a small laugh and slowly shaking his head.
And that little girl...

“Some privacy, please?”

Will looked up in dismay to see Castor and Katryna embracing to his left. Both were looking at him, Castor with a raised eyebrow and Katryna with a sly grin. Her smile, though, faltered ever so slightly when she saw Will's face.

No reason to spoil their good time,
he thought, and he rolled his eyes and winked at Castor. He rose quickly to his feet without a backward glance, and soon he was amid the press of bustling people once more. When the last vestiges of the sun's light faded away to leave in its wake a sea of twinkling stars, a dazzling display of fireworks lit the sky with vibrant flashes of color. Each rumbling peal of artificial thunder shook Will to his core. The onset of night seemed to spur the revelers even further to excess, and everywhere he went Will had to shoulder his way through mobs of drunken men and the whores who were all too eager to take their money, their advances challenged by young city girls eager to catch the eyes of the heroic
mettonári
. It was madness; his senses were assaulted by a storm of sights and sounds and smells that he had only ever experienced together on the rarest occasions.

And then, when the moon was at its zenith and he had finally left the bulk of the festivities behind, Will found the storyteller.

It was in a secluded little garden ringed by a circle of trees, the sudden abundance of green, living things oddly misplaced after the dirt and stone of the city. He almost passed by completely when he saw the glow from the campfire and the people basking in its light, but something caught his ear and he crept closer, not wishing to attract any unwanted attention.

It was a woman. Her voice was beautiful and soft, gentle and warm as a summer breeze, and it flowed around him, caressing him and drawing him in despite her desert accent. There was a faint glint to it, too, as though she were constantly on the verge of smiling. She sat on a tree stump, her body half-hidden from view by the crackling flames. Two tall men dressed in desert clothing—and who seemed strangely familiar to Will—stood to either side of her, hands folded behind their backs. Except for a narrow strip across their eyes, each man's head and face was completely covered with a black scarf. The bodyguards seemed to serve no real purpose, however, as the woman's audience was a crowd of children. Will quietly moved to get a better view.

“...Powerful and brave, beautiful and pure, they ruled for six hundred and thirty years. Their names were Davin and Talyn, the twenty-first pair to bear the titles of Dragon King and Phoenix Empress.”

Will stepped as softly as he could around the trees, moving constantly from light to darkness as he walked between the narrow shadows they cast.

“But they were betrayed,” she murmured, and gestured suddenly so that the fire flared in a burst of violet. The children gasped. “The King's seven High Councilors, trusted advisers and valued friends of all the immortal Titans, conspired in secret. They were special, and the Titans had taught them to see into the Void as the gods did. But the Titans had been deceived, and the High Councilors used what arcane knowledge they had to reach deep into the Void, and from there...” The fire turned blood red, and
Will thought for a split instant that he could see images flickering in its depths.

“They consumed the power of Keth, the Dark One.” She all but whispered the last part, and Will had to lean in to hear her. He paused then, half hidden behind a tree, and was able to see the woman completely.

Her body was thin and lithe and sensuously curved. Her clothes, both similar to and finer than the raiment of her men, clung tightly to her shapely form. She wore a beautiful silk cloak embroidered with hundreds of swirling, sweeping designs that shone in the firelight. Much like her voice, the designs reminded Will of the wind. Her face was half-hidden in shadow by the cloak's hood, but Will could see a narrow jaw, perfectly even teeth, and the unmistakable brown skin of an Eastlander. Her full lips, like her voice, seemed to be perpetually on the verge of smiling.

“Using their newfound might,” she continued, “they attacked the Titans, ravaging the land with the power of death itself.  The gods fought back fiercely, and for awhile it seemed they had the upper hand. But the traitorous seven had one final trick.”

Her head tilted farther down then, and the hint of a smile evaporated, vanishing as though it had never existed.

“They bound the Phoenix Empress to their will,” she said softly, “and the woman known as Talyn was lost forever. It was a crushing blow—one the Titans would never recover from. By the time the traitors' machinations were laid bare, it was already too late. The Phoenix Empress gathered a vast army against the free people of the world, bringing utter ruination to those who stood in her way. When it was clear that all was lost, the Dragon King ordered the Titans into a full retreat; Feothon left for the Dark Forest, Renne for Horoth in the north, Borbos for the City in the Waves to the
west
, and...” Her voice faltered. “And Serah for windy Falcos in the east.” She paused for a moment and reached up beneath her hood. When her hand came back down, the tips of her first two fingers glittered wetly in the firelight. She flicked the tears into the embers and the flames burned with a deep blue hue. And suddenly, inexplicably, Will was there, experiencing the story as though it were happening right in front of him.

“Valiant Renne was slain, buried beneath a wave of Keth's children as she bought time for her fleeing people. As her final act, she created the Earthenwall that now encircles the
farthest
reaches of the
Northlands
.

“The shell that called itself the Phoenix Empress recalled her massive army from the four corners of Pallamar and assaulted the
Dragonskeep, the
home of the Dragon King. Her plan was to take Davin hostage and lock him forever in the traitors' Black Fortress.” She sat a little straighter then, and the ghost of a smile returned. “But Davin had laid a trap of his own. Talyn could not kill him without killing herself as well, for Dragon King and Phoenix Empress are two halves of the same soul, and one flame cannot burn without the other. Davin knew this, and his final gift to this world was to rid it of both himself and the corrupted Talyn.

“The blast consumed the Phoenix Empress' army; none escaped. Now, all that remains as a testament to the last act of the twenty-first Dragon King is a sea of blackened bones half-buried within the sands of the Kahara Desert. The power it took the traitors to enslave the Phoenix Empress was unfathomable, and when she died the backlash all but destroyed them.”

She stood then, and the fire returned to its normal, cheerful orange-yellow color. “That was five hundred years ago. Today, the traitors bide their time far away, having retreated deep into the heart of the wild lands in the Southern Marshes. They have taken many names—Belahan, Krish, the Fallen—but for those who remember, they will always be known as the seven traitors. They scheme from within the bowels of the Black Fortress and await the next opportunity to strike, for though they were bloodied, they were not destroyed. And the Titans...they faded away into memory. Now, they are little more than a myth.”

She clapped her hands and the spell was broken. The children blinked, stretched, and yawned as though awakening from a deep sleep. Will felt as though he had been slapped in the midst of dozing off. He shook himself and blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze from his head.

When he looked back, the woman and her men were gone. The children dispers
ed and soon Will was alone with
only the campfire. He folded his arms and exhaled sharply through his nose. There had been something about the story...

He had heard it before, of course. What child hadn't? But this time it had been different; the storyteller had made it sound almost as if... “It was like she'd been there,” he murmured
aloud
.

“Did you enjoy my story?”

Will nearly jumped out of his skin; he leaped away and turned completely around in the same motion, reflexively reaching up to draw his sword. He laughed when he saw the storyteller, and slowly he released his grip on the hilt of his weapon. “You scared me half to death,” he said.

She smiled, exposing her teeth. “My apologies,” she said softly. “Did you like my story?”

Will looked around, suddenly wary. “Where'd your men get off to?” The two guards were nowhere in sight, and that made Will uneasy. He could not put his finger on why, but something about the way the woman carried herself suggested a familiarity with the death-dealing arts.

“They will come if they are needed. Now, please answer my question. Did you enjoy my story?”

Will narrowed his eyes. “The part that I heard, yes. You're a talented performer. Why?”

She drew back her hood then, exposing long black hair that tumbled about her shoulders and framed an almost elfin face. Her eyes, like her hair, were so dark that they seemed to swallow the light. They were eyes that had seen many things, and in contrast to her obvious youth they seemed almost ancient. “I recognize you from somewhere. You are
mettonário
, yes?” she asked.

Will nodded slowly. “That's an old word, and few enough people use it anymore,” he said, “but yes, I'm a mercenary.”

“Of course. I am pleased to meet you, Willyem Blackmane the mercenary,” she replied, and Will cocked an eyebrow in surprise before remembering that seemingly
everyone
in Prado knew him. “Your fame has grown these last few months. I have wanted to make your acquaintance for some time now.” She held out her hand, and after a moment of hesitation Will shook it lightly.