His Ancient Heart (33 page)

Talon spun, finding Delia still squared off against the two Overguards. One of her knives was gone, lost during the fight, and she was doing her best to back away from them without running, keeping them close and delaying while she waited for help. She may have had some kind of training, but the Overguard were the best the Empire had to offer outside of the Nine. She was no match for them without surprise on her side.

Talon dug his foot under the fallen soldier's blade and kicked it up to his hand, charging towards the melee in quick, long strides. He shouted as he did, drawing the attention of one of the soldiers, while the other made sure Delia didn't stick a knife in his back. The battle was rejoined, Talon bringing both swords to bear against the Overguard.

Where in Heden was Wilem?

The thought came to Talon as he crossed his blades to block a heavy downward stroke, then pushed back against his attacker and gained a few feet of space. Everything had happened fast, but the boy should have come down the stairs by now. Had there been more guards somewhere else in the building?

He cursed as he blocked a hard parry with one sword, and then thrust forward with the other, trying to catch this one in the same trap as the last. His blade skidded off the chain armor, but his opponent didn't fall for the trick, instead using his free hand to grab Talon's wrist and pull him closer, willing to risk being hit in the leg for a killing stroke on him.
 

A flash of light threw the street into bright contrast, and then the soldier fell back, the force of the magic striking his armor pushing him away. He looked past Talon to the doorway of the apartments, where Wilem must have been standing. A moment later he raised his gloved hand, and a bolt of light slammed into the metal right before it reached his face. He took a few steps back to absorb the power, coming away unharmed.

It didn't matter. The magic was a distraction, and it left the Overguard wide open. Talon came forward and thrust the tip of his blade into the man's neck, passing him by and headed for the other while he fell. The remaining soldier put up his sword.

"Do you surrender?" Talon asked.
 

The Overguard stared at him with angry eyes.
 

"Never."
 

The throwing dagger came to his hand in a motion so quick Talon could barely follow it. He released it in one smooth motion, sending the missile spinning end over end. Talon shifted to dodge the weapon, but it hadn't been thrown at him. It buzzed as it sailed past his shoulder, headed directly towards Wilem.

"No," Talon said, turning to watch the trajectory, at the same time Delia jumped onto the Overguard's back and planted her blade in his flesh. The dagger was a blur in the air, an angry insect moving too fast to be swatted.
 

Wilem was motionless at the weapon's approach, his hands to his sides, the staff held at his waist. He wasn't reacting to the blade at all. Would he even see it before it killed him? Talon could feel his heart thumping, his anger building.
 

Not another I couldn't save. Not this one.

The dagger was only inches away when it seemed to strike an invisible wall, slowing to a stop directly in front of Wilem's eyes before falling to the ground.
 

Wilem looked back at Talon and smiled.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Talon

"Are you sure about this?" Wilem asked.
 

They were laying prone in the midst of a heavy growth of weeds, about a quarter of a mile away from the old farmhouse where the Carriers, Mediators, and Overguard were to assemble. It was a large, open building that had at some point been gutted by fire. The roof was gone, turned to dust, the stone walls dark with soot and ash, the grass immediately around it brown. It reminded Talon of Davin's estate, though it was much larger, and none of the outer construction had collapsed during the fire. It was deserted, empty. The perfect place to meet and make the exchange.

There were Overguards standing at both ends of the building. One pair waited in an archway on the east side, and another near a freshly made break in the wall on the west side, where he presumed the Carriers would ride in from. Their eyes were scanning the fields around them, out to the taller weeds, passing right over the spot where Talon, Wilem, and Delia hid. They shifted nervously from one leg to the other, holding arrows strung to their bows.

Are they being cautious, or is it because not all of them have arrived? Do they suspect that I am here, or are they concerned about rebels?

There were six wagons arranged near the door to the east, covered carriages pulled by teams of four horses. Talon knew that since the carriages hadn't been with the Mediators, it meant there were even more soldiers waiting inside than the twenty or so he had been expecting.

One Mediator and the First of Nine against four Mediators and thirty or more soldiers.
 

He didn't like the odds.

Wilem's forehead was sweaty, his face pale. "Maybe we should head west, try to catch the Carriers as they ride back out. Or follow them?"
 

Talon had thought about that. There was no guarantee they would travel west when they left, and there had been no opportunity for them to claim horses that could match the speed and power of an elite bred destrier.
 

"We'll never keep up with them," he said. "It has to be now."

What choice did they have? This was their one chance to reach the Carriers, to capture one and learn the location of the Refinery, no matter what kind of torture or pain it took to make them talk. It was their one chance to save Eryn and all of the other Cursed from a terrible future, and deal a staggering blow to
his
Empire. It was risky, extremely risky, but if will and desire could win the day, then he was sure they would.
 

It was enough in Washfall. It will have to be enough now.

"Look," Delia said a few minutes later, shifting her arm to point to the west of the farmhouse. Night had fallen, leaving the world dim and murky, illuminated only by the stars and a few lanterns hanging from the carriages. Even so, the approach of the Carriers was unmistakable.

There were three of them, riding hard on their massive armored destriers, their large forms identical beneath their armor and helmets. A large sword was visible strapped to the side of their warhorses, and Talon could also see that they had large ircidium boxes anchored to their backs. The cure. They leaned forward on their mounts, flicking the reins and urging the horses to move just a little bit faster.

"Get ready," Talon said. They would only have one chance at this. One split second to take them all by surprise.

"I'm going to be useless after this, and I won't be able to defend you from the others," Wilem said. Talon could see the boy's hands were shaking as he clutched the staff at his side. "If I survive."

"We'll protect you," Delia said.

Talon dropped an Overguard's short bow and a quiver of arrows from his shoulder. He took the arrows and shoved them point-first into the ground in a tight line. They all watched the Carriers disappear behind the walls of the farmhouse.
 

"Give them a chance to dismount. We don't want them turning and riding straight back out."

Wilem nodded, shifting his feet so he could stand. The seconds passed as hours might, the cool night air prickling nervous flesh.
 

A heartbeat. Another. Talon drew in a slow breath and held it, clearing his mind of everything but the present. He put his hand on the first of the arrows.

"Now," he said.

Wilem shot to his feet, raising the staff. Before they had arrived, they had worked to remove the stone from the end of it, and replace it with the red eye clasp. It was balanced precariously in the space, wedged and held by one of Delia's stars. Even so, it began to glow brightly, the contact with the staff accepting the transfer of magic.

A heavy rumble sounded above the farmhouse, and a gout of fire dropped from the sky.

Talon brought the first arrow to the bow, drew back, and loosed. The first of the Overguards fell.
 

Screams sounded within the farmhouse. Shouts of fear and panic. The carriages rocked and started moving as the horses hitched to them bolted. Another arrow. Another target. Another dead soldier. The glow on the crystal began to fade.

A third arrow. It missed the mark, hitting the Overguard's armor. They had been spotted now, and the four remaining guards turned their way, raising their bows in their direction. The screaming from inside the building had fallen to silence.

The fire vanished as immediately as it had arrived. The metal star had melted like wax, causing the stone to loosen and drop from the staff. Wilem coughed weakly and toppled to the ground.

It was up to him now.

He pulled up the last four arrows in rapid succession, taking quick shots that dropped two more of the guards. There was still another pair. They returned his fire, their arrows whipping past, deflected just enough by the thin cover of weeds around them.
 

Delia shot past him, running out towards the farmhouse. Talon dropped the bow and pushed himself up, bringing the swords he had taken from Terryl's Overguards to his hands. They weren't ircidium, but they were high quality, well-balanced. He charged behind the girl, working to get ahead of her before she was cut down.

The soldiers launched one more volley of arrows before dropping the bow, switching to swords and rushing out to meet them. One arrow passed by Talon's left shoulder. The other nearly killed Delia, but she skidded aside in a quick second, and the missile screamed past her cheek.

They slowed as they came together. All except Delia. She faked towards the Overguard, and then rolled between them, coming up at their backs and continuing towards the farmhouse undeterred. Talon had only a moment to look past the onrushing Overguards before the battle was joined. He saw a Mediator stumble from the building, robes burned but still alive. He had impressively managed to raise a defense in the instant of the attack.

The Overguards struck in perfect unison, their footwork honed by years of practice. Talon barely noticed them as he blocked their initial attack, and then leaped up and kicked the first in the jaw, the force of the blow sending the soldier reeling to the ground. He came down behind the man's head and turned, catching the second's blade from over his shoulder, using the opposing force to help himself twist and balance, and then bring the point of his sword up and into the man's unprotected groin. The soldier cried out in pain and fell to the ground.

Talon kicked the first again to keep him down, and then used his sword to end the fight. His eyes darted forward, to where he had seen the Mediator. He was gone. No, he was there, on the ground near the entrance. He had a metal star lodged into his throat.
 

"Talon," Delia shouted. He followed her voice, finding her backpedaling away from the farmhouse.

A Carrier appeared, walking calmly towards her, broadsword sparkling in the burning embers of the initial onslaught. The other two followed a few feet behind. The distance between them was perfect, their motions completely in sync. The two in the rear shifted towards Talon and began to approach, their movements so precise, so methodical.

Talon's eyes traveled to the Carrier's faceplate, which he now saw was a twisted human visage, bent and turned in a dark mockery. There were two points to see through and another for breathing.

That can't be. The hole is too small to draw enough air in a fight.

Talon lifted his swords and set himself. "Come on," he shouted at them. He risked a glance over towards Delia. She was still moving back, trying to find a way to escape from the Carrier. He cursed under his breath and returned his attention to his opponents.

Then he noticed the hands.
 

The smooth joints.

The rounded edges.

Like the hand that he had found in Curio's collection.

They rushed towards him in their final three steps, their motions nearly silent. A large sword came in fast, and it was all Talon could do to deflect it and step back, the force of the blow shaking his arm numb. The other circled to his right and launched an attack, and he rolled aside and got back to his feet.

Juggernauts. They're not a Three Six, but how can that be? It was the last model.

He clenched his teeth, trying to remember. Was it the last model or only the last model from before the war ended? Had he made others when it was over? Did he build them for this very purpose?

They moved towards him, every step perfect. The swords angled in on him again, and he just barely managed to get away.
 

It would take me a dozen cuts in the same place to get through that armor, and I can't get even one.

He needed to remember them, remember their construction. If he had made them, there would be a hidden release on the back, one that would unseal the ircidium shell. He knew where to find it on Oz. Where was it on these?

He shouted as a blade crashed into the ground next to him, throwing dirt up into his face and sending him reeling. He knew the answers were there, right at the tip of his shattered mind. It was like looking through fogged glass. He saw the shape of it, but none of the detail.

They were going to die if he didn't remember. Delia, Wilem, Eryn, all of them. He needed to get closer.

A heavy stroke came in, headed for his midsection. He turned and put both of his blades against it, leaning in and throwing all of his strength into catching the blow. It was enough to push him back through the grass, his boots digging into the earth and slipping before finally coming to a stop. He shoved back with all of his strength, bringing the juggernaut's sword arm away and ducking in behind its guard.

He was face to face with it now, his eyes only inches from its small holes. He dropped the swords and wrapped himself around it, hugging it against him. It stayed silent as it reached for him with its free hand, grasping at his back. When he didn't let go, it began to punch him, the magic-powered limbs driving into him like a battering ram.