His Ancient Heart (10 page)

"More soldiers," Trock said. "Supposed to be protecting you so you can hang, not trying to kill you themselves." He felt the Commander brush past him. "Move aside, by order of the Overlord."

"We want justice for our brothers."

"What better justice than through the noose? You're looking for glory, and you'll have none of it here. Move back, or I'll move you back."

They came to a stop, waiting. Talon wished he could see through the bag over his head, to witness the confrontation. Trock was old, but his experience with a blade was borne out with years in the field. His threats weren't idle.

The soldiers didn't make another sound, and they started moving again without blood being spilled. The cries and shouts rose in pitch around him, more and more beginning to chant his name.
 

"Silas! Silas!"

He felt a rush of air, and Bryant cursed next to him. A louder shout went up through the crowd, and then Trock was pressed against him again.

"We have a problem," the jailer said.

"Silas!"

The cries were gaining in number, growing louder. Talon heard grunting, and then screaming. Something heavy hit him in the shoulder. The soldiers lining the route began to scream.

"Get back! Get back!"
 

"Silas!"

The screaming continued, the atmosphere inside the courtyard changing. He could hear fighting all around him, feel the press of the jailers trying to protect him.
 

"What's happening?" he shouted.

"A revolt," Trock said. "Crowd is at each other's throats. They're trying to free you. More soldiers are coming in."

"Fools," Talon said. They were going to die for nothing.

"Silas!"

They kept moving forward, reaching the dais as the screaming intensified around them. He heard the thwip of bowstrings now, followed by cries from the gathered crowd. The soldiers were firing down at the sympathizers in the masses, each release taking one more voice out of the group.
 

"Silas! Silas!"
 

Still it continued, even as they climbed the nine steps to the top of the platform. The noise was deafening, the sack suffocating. Something else hit his arm, something sharp enough to cut into his skin. He wondered how many objects had hit his escorts instead.

"Enough!"

Enough!

The voice rang out in Talon's mind, and through the air. It echoed through the courtyard, across all of the city, with a power that shocked both sympathizers and loyalists to silence. Everything froze around them, all of the energy draining from the mob in an instant.

"Thank Amman for that," Trock said. "Overlord is coming out."

She had used her Curse, but not in such a way that the crowd would understand it was her. A murmur traveled the masses, even as he could hear the rustle of her skirts against the steps up the dais.

"Traitors to the Empire will be quick to join this murderer in the noose," the Overlord said loudly, her voice carrying across the masses with the force of her Curse. The people remained silent, gelded by her mere presence.

He smelled her perfume as she came to stand beside him.
 

"Commander, remove the hood," she said.

He felt Trock's hands pulling at the ropes around his neck. He was grateful when the sack was pulled away and he could breathe again. He took a deep pull of the air and looked out at the crowd. It was as large as he had guessed, the front rows filled with nothing but soldiers in their dark uniforms and armor. There was only room for the people near the back, a small crowd that had at some point tried to surge forward, and had been met with harsh resistance. From his raised position, he could see a number of men and women on the ground. Some were bloody.
 

Some were dead.

So much violence over him. The whole of the Empire was ready to explode.

Caela stepped up to him, taking his chin in her hand and turning his face to hers, making a point to look a killer in the eye. She winked at him on the left side, and then slapped him hard with her right hand. She turned to face the crowd again.

"This man was captured immediately after murdering three of the city soldiers during their routine patrols, along with an accomplice who was killed trying to escape. There was a rumor started that this man is Silas Morningstar, but I assure you on
his
name, this is not the Liar. The man you see standing here is nothing more than a killer who is being punished for his crime as an example to any who would lay hands on loyal servants of the Empire." She moved back and motioned for Trock to take him to the noose. Then she stepped forward to the front of the dais. "I will
not
have bloodshed and chaos in my city."

The crowd remained silent and tense. Even those who supported Silas Morningstar now knew they couldn't fight back against the sheer volume of soldiers assembled at the palace. There was nothing they could do but watch.

"To the noose," Wallace said in Talon's ear, taking his shoulders and leading him over.
 

Talon clanged and clinked across the dais to where Trock was waiting with the rope. When he arrived, Wallace knelt down and freed him of the chains. Trock took the noose and placed it around his neck, cinching it up tight. The Overlord approached him again, holding out a golden chalice filled with wine.

"May you find mercy in the arms of Heden," she said, loud enough for the crowd to hear.
 

It was part of the act, part of the ritual, though it was rare enough for the Overlord to oversee hangings personally. Most prisoners would smack the chalice from the presiding official's hand. Most prisoners would curse and try to escape, even though they had a rope around their neck, and wind up with a knife in their gut while they were hung.
 

Talon couldn't risk the knife wound killing him, even if the hanging didn't. He reached out slowly and took the offered cup, lifting it to his lips and drinking deeply. When he finished, he handed it back to the Overlord, grinning wildly at her.

"To Heden with the lot of you," he shouted. "Overlords, soldiers, peasants. Every one of you disgusts me. I hope one day this entire Empire burns to dust." He grabbed at his crotch for effect, his eyes shifting over to the Overlord. He could see she was nervous about his chances of survival. He could tell she was worried about him.

Wallace grabbed his hands again, binding them quickly with rope and backing away. There was no other fanfare or pomp, just a thunk as Trock shifted the lever that opened the floor beneath him. Talon watched the dais drop away beneath his feet, felt himself fall a few inches, and then began to choke.

He closed his eyes, feeling the rope digging into his neck, feeling his body begin to burn from his inability to breathe. He turned his thoughts to Alyssa, wondering if he would ever see her again. He fought to hold her face in his mind. Dark hair, green eyes, freckles that fell along her cheeks. A soft laugh, a loud yell, a passionate sigh. If he didn't come back, if this was his final end, he wanted his last thought to be of her.

The crowd remained silent while he swung there. At least, it seemed that way to Talon. If they were screaming, cheering, crying... he didn't notice. He felt the wind across his bare skin, the stinging of the rope around his neck, and the calm that had taken him when he had been stabbed by Clau.
 

The calm of a man who had lived a thousand years, died half a dozen times, and knew that his end was impermanent.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Spyne

General Spyne leaned over the dead hulk of the juggernaut, the Historians resting behind him. They hadn't asked any other questions of him. They hadn't said another word. The moment he gave them two hours to rest, they had made the best cushioning they could from the small packs they carried and laid their heads down on them. Their life on the road had taught them how to go from alert to asleep and back in seconds.
 

He examined the creature, running his hand along the ircidium armor, feeling the smoothness of the metal, the impossible flexion in the joints. It had been the height of their abilities to craft a thing that was both living and non-living. That could fight like a man, but without fear or hunger, or any of the desires that plagued the emotional. Anger.

He remembered now, the first time he had seen one brought to life. Tella was a wizard. She had been the one to discover that by sharding and shaping the crystals, they could create resonances and impulses that would allow the creatures to store a limited number of words and instructions.
 

He pulled a knife from his hip and began scraping at the neck, one of the weakest joints of the thing, working to get the head separated from the body. He wanted to see it, the core that made the juggernauts into more than just humanoid masses of alloy and magic. It was his connection to his wife.
 

It was his reminder of his sacrifice.

For a promise broken. For what, Talon? Why?

He dug the knife edge through the thinner metal, sawing and scraping until he had pierced it. Then he reached in with his fingers, pulling and prying with his great strength, tearing the rest of the seam apart.
 

He lifted the head away, falling backwards and resting it in his lap. He turned it so that it was facing up, empty stone eyes endlessly looking at him. He pushed away the tubes and rods, pulling out the bits that drove the creature until he found what he was looking for and gently, carefully removed that as well.

He held it up in front of his eyes. It was glass, the size of his fist and perfectly round, with a metal bar fused to the bottom and a tube trailing from it. Liquid poured from the tube onto his legs, draining slowly from the glass ball. Water. It carried the resonance throughout the length of the creature, sending messages to other crystals which amplified the signal, which in turn told the legs to lift, or the fingers to close.
 

It was genius.

A small bit of ebocite rested there, anchored to a thin rod to hold it in place, along with a number of smooth, round stones that had once floated free inside, held in place by the resonances. Even if he hadn't broken it in its removal, his eyes would never have been able to follow the vibrations in the water or the spinning of the stones. The invisible nature of the entire thing was what made it so amazing, and his wife had been the one to discover it.

He didn't know how long he stared at it. Even with the water gone, the contents kept his attention, bringing him back to the time before the war, when his heart had been filled with love. He had never been a man of magic. He had come to Genesia as a husband and a father. He had come as a caretaker and a lover.
 

What had he become?

He closed his eyes, fighting against the tears, feeling the pin of anger expanding in his chest. He didn't open his eyes when he leaned back and then hurled the core as far as he could, into the distant trees.
 

It was gone. All gone. He wouldn't let the pain and anger be for nothing. The promise was all there was. All that was left.

He opened his eyes.
 

Worm was sitting only a few feet away, his unblinking eyes staring at the General. Spyne stared back at him. There was something in those eyes. How long had he been there? What had he seen?

"Worm," Spyne said. "Do you have something to report?"

The painted man lifted his arm and pointed towards the slope, in the direction they were to travel. Spyne followed his arm, up and through the branches of the bare trees that surrounded them. Darkness had taken the valley, and in it he could make out a number of torches and lanterns.

Who could that be?

Spyne got to his feet, the juggernaut's head rolling from his damp lap as he did. He ignored it, retrieving his knife and taking a few steps towards the slope. The torches were only halfway down, a few hours away.
 

"Historians," Spyne said. He heard the rustling behind him, his men coming awake and getting to their feet. "Gather your packs. We're heading out."

There was no extraneous sound. No grumbles of complaint, no questioning that he had given them two hours, and only let them rest for one. They picked up their packs and formed up behind him. If they were tired, they didn't let it show.

"Are those torches, General?" Peyn asked. "The Liar?"

"Not the Liar," Spyne replied. "Whoever that is, they're coming down the slope. Let us go and meet them."

"Torches, my Lord?" Ash asked.

"No. We'll stay hidden. Mind your step. If any of you alert them to our presence, you'll be dead before you can make the same mistake again."

They knew he was serious. He knew they wouldn't make that kind of error. They headed out in silence, creeping through the trees and out to the rise. There wasn't much cover on the slope, nowhere to hide except in the pitch of the night. They were fortunate the skies were cloudy, keeping the light of the sky from providing too much illumination. Enough to walk by.

Another hour passed before they were close enough to hear the noises of the approaching party carrying down to them. Frightened whispers and nervous murmurs, along with the clink of armor and the rustle of cloth. Spyne knew what soldiers sounded like. Someone had sent them this way, sent them to Genesia. It had to be Thornn. Only he would send soldiers to do the work of the Nine. No, not do the work. He had sent them to try to intercept Talon, to slow him and give his brothers more time to arrive.

It was a cold, calculated maneuver. There was only one outcome for the three dozen soldiers that were descending ahead of them.

Spyne reached into his pocket and took a small stone in his hand. It gave off a constant, faint light, enough for him to raise it up behind him and signal to his men that they would hold at their position. All motion around him stopped, and everything fell to silence.

They waited patiently, still and soundless while the soldiers approached. In time, the torches made them visible: men clearly frightened by the field of bones they had already climbed past, nervous at the darkness and the smell of burning that lingered from the tower's destruction. Spyne also found the Mediators in the light of the flames. Why had Thornn sent Mediators? To counter the whore, he guessed.