The Last Talisman (23 page)

Before he could respond, she set off crawling toward the mysterious object. It appeared to be a bundle of wood, but was giving off a wretched, rotten odor.

“It can't be a …” Sennar covered his mouth.

Floating there in the water was a man's body. He must have been dead for days, judging by the smell and his state of decay. But for the tattered woolen clothes still shrouding his corpse, he'd been stripped of everything he owned.

Nihal backed away a few steps and made to draw her sword, but the space was too cramped. Instead, they stood there, silent, listening for the slightest sound. All they could hear was the lapping current.

“Friend or foe?” Sennar asked.

“I have no idea. … They stripped off all of his armor.”

They continued on, walking in complete silence now, though they knew silence alone wouldn't save them from the enemy lurking in the shadows. Whoever killed that man must have been familiar with the aqueducts, and for all they knew, he was watching them that very moment, waiting for the chance to strike.

The man's floating corpse, however, wasn't the only one they found. That same day, farther along the canal, they came across two others. And when they arrived at the nearest cistern, there were twenty more bobbing corpses, drifting slowly in the current. Most, like the man back in the canal, had been stripped of their armor and weapons; others had been left wearing a light breastplate or clutching a sword. It appeared as if there'd been a battle.

For a while, they stood dumbfounded before the scene, until Nihal broke the silence. In a rush, she drew her sword and slammed the blade against the wall. “Who's there in the shadows? Come out and show yourself! If you're going to kill us, then come kill us!” she shouted, using every last drop of air in her lungs. The effort sent her teetering off balance. She fell, and as soon as she touched the water, the current ripped her away.

Sennar launched after her and managed to grab her by the arm, just as she was about to slip over the edge of a waterfall and into the next cistern. He hoisted her back onto the walkway and shoved her against the wall, his eyes burning.

“Will you calm down for second? Yelling's not going to get you anywhere!”

Nihal's breathing slowed and she let herself fall into Sennar's arms. “We can't go on like this. …”

“We're just tired, that's all,” said the sorcerer. “Everything will be fine.”

But Nihal knew he was only trying to comfort her, that it was a meaningless lie.

They arrived at yet another cistern and sat down to rest on the platform, just big enough to hold the two of them.

“I think it's best you get a good night's sleep tonight. I'll stay up and keep watch.”

“As if it were that easy … as if I could just fall right to sleep while a thousand eyes stare at us in the dark, waiting for some stupid distraction to catch us off guard. … Not to mention hunger, the heat, this unbearable darkness,” Nihal moaned.

“It's gotten to me, too, trust me. But breaking down over it won't get us anywhere. Please, at least try to get some sleep,” Sennar replied, his tone firm. She lowered her eyes and nodded slightly, at last persuaded.

Nihal curled up at the sorcerer's side, resting her head on his shoulder. Alone, Sennar kept watch. The flame glowing in his palm illuminated only a few feet of the tunnel in each direction. Beyond his circle of light, all was invisible. Water flowed, pitch black, into the distance. Sennar's senses were sharp, attentive. He squinted into the dark of the artificial night, searching for any sign of the enemy's presence, but all seemed still and silent. The water's rhythmic, perpetual lapping began to wear on his nerves. It seemed intent on hypnotizing him while he was doing all he could to keep awake and alert.

Gradually, however, the noise became less rhythmic, less steady. As if surfacing from beneath the current's perpetual hush, new sounds arose, like the unheard voices in the back of a choir. Sudden, varied sounds. After a while, Sennar convinced himself that it was all just a figment of his imagination. There was no other way to explain it. He created distractions for himself, tried thinking random things to keep himself awake. But there was no way around it: The sounds persisted.

Then he thought he'd heard a voice. Or several voices. There were no words, only a garbled mumbling. Then laughter, muted, sinister. They were laughing at him, the young sorcerer alone in the night, soaked to the bone and frightened. The voices became more distinct and were joined by the sound of footsteps. One, two, three, a hundred steps, a thousand men. No, there was no one there.

It's just your imagination. Relax.

A faint glimmer appeared and Sennar's eyes widened. Did he really just see a light? All was dark again. He leaned his head back on the wall and closed his eyes. More footsteps, pacing through the tunnel. He lifted his eyelids and there it was: a bright light, something shining in the dark. He leaped to his feet.

“What's the matter?” Nihal asked, half asleep.

“Someone's close,” Sennar whispered. His hands were glowing, ready to cast a spell.

Nihal sprang up and reached for her sword, but there was no time to draw it. She felt a hand twist her arm and pull her back. Just before she fell, she saw Sennar beside her, a man holding him by the shoulders with a long knife at his throat. A burst of bright light flooded the tunnel. Nihal's face was pinned to the ground, but in the corner of her eye she could still see the glow of a thousand torches.

“Well, would you look at that! It appears we have guests,” said one of the men.

Nihal struggled to free herself. Something heavy struck her head. Everything went dark.

Sennar put up more of a fight, knocking out the man behind him with his first spell. Once freed, he took off running, only to be surrounded again and taken down by the legs. As he struck the earth, the pain stole his breath. He was too worn to fight back, too hungry and exhausted. The spell he'd launched had been his last attempt.

24

The Eye

When Ido came to, he was enveloped in darkness. His strength had fled his limbs, and it felt as if a nail had been hammered into his head. He tried to move, but his arms were too heavy. He could just barely wiggle his fingers. He heard a rustling sound, as if someone were approaching.

“Where am I?” he asked in a whisper.

“In Dama. In the Land of the Sea.”

It was a voice he knew, but he couldn't place it.

“Who's speaking? I can't see you. …”

“It's Soana,” the voice answered.

Ido was confused. The last thing he remembered, he'd been in the midst of a battle in the Land of Water. How he'd ended up in the Land of the Sea was a complete mystery. Soana must have sensed his bewilderment, for she went on speaking.

“You were injured on the second day of battle. You've been unconscious since then. The Land of Water is all but lost, and the army has taken refuge here.”

“Lost?”

Soana said nothing.

It wasn't exactly a shock. They'd known from the outset that it was a hopeless cause. And then with Galla gone …

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Four days now.”

Ido was struck with a vague sense of vertigo. He must have really done himself in. He'd never lost consciousness for four days before. “What kind of wound did …” His words broke off. Speaking took all his effort.

“Your head. Which is why you can't see anything. There's a bandage covering your eyes. But the last thing you need now is to spend your energy chatting. Better to rest.”

Ido would have liked to tell her that he'd already rested enough, that what he needed now was to know what had happened, that he'd never be able to sleep with all the questions buzzing around in his head, but before he could put the thought into words, he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke the next morning, he felt significantly better. He tried to open his eyes, but he found it strangely difficult. At last he managed to crack them open, and everything around him was bathed in a brilliant glow. Soana was there again, standing across from him.

The sorceress smiled. “How are you feeling today?”

“Much better, I'd say.”

Ido tried sitting up. With a little effort, he was able to manage. Soana immediately tucked a pillow behind his back. “Not yet.”

Ido obeyed, despite the thousand question marks swarming in his brain. His memory was already functioning somewhat better. He remembered a few more details, above all his battle with Deinforo, but he couldn't recall how it had ended. “I have so much to ask you,” he began.

She pursed her lips, then unfolded a smile. “Ask away.”

“Well, to start with, what the devil happened to me?”

“You were wounded in a fight with Deinforo.”

Not again. …

“So I was carted off in the middle of a duel,” he said grimly.

Soana shook her head. “You sliced his right hand clean off. He fled, too. Vesa carried you unconscious back to the ground.”

The dwarf grinned. At least he'd taken a piece of that scoundrel along with him. His right hand at that … his fighting hand.

“What about my men?” he asked.

Soana frowned. “Ido, it's a long, complicated story, and it's not my place to tell you. … You're tired now. When you're better, you'll have all the answers you want.”

“What happened to my men?” Ido insisted. Her reticence was beginning to worry him. He still didn't know what kind of wound he'd come away with.

“Nelgar will tell you everything you want to know when he comes to see you,” the sorceress replied, and then immediately left the room, leaving Ido alone with his doubts.

Nelgar came that evening. He proved a very solicitous visitor—too solicitous, as far as Ido was concerned, with all his questions about how he was, whether he'd eaten, and a million other banalities.

“There's a lot I'd still like to know,” said Ido, cutting him short.

At his words, Nelgar, like Soana, assumed a reluctant expression—one that hardly promised good news.

“Quit making that face and speak. I think I'm adult enough to handle it. First, tell me what happened to my men.”

“Of the boys from the academy, thirty remain.”

Ido felt his heart stop. “And the veterans in my ranks?”

“Fifty made it out in the end.”

“It's not possible. …”

Nelgar sighed. “Ido, you have no idea what it was like out there. … First you were busy with Deinforo, then you were wounded. …”

“Tell me,” Ido implored, almost in a whimper.

“While you were tied up in a duel with Deinforo, two more Black Dragon Knights showed up, two identical beings, and they fought as a pair. That was the beginning of the end. Sure, you cut Deinforo out of the picture—after you took his hand off that was the last we saw of him—but that knocked
you
out of the battle as well, and your men were in disarray. The enemy refused to call a truce, and the battle raged on through the night and into the next day.” Nelgar paused and let out a heavy sigh. When he began again, his voice cracked. “At dawn on the third day of battle, one of the twin warriors killed Mavern. At that point, we knew it was over. Mavern had taken command of your men after you were injured. Once he fell, your young soldiers began to fall, too. In the end, there was nothing to do but retreat … though it was more of an escape than a retreat. It was only thanks to the help of troops from the Land of the Sea that we kept the Tyrant's army from pushing us back as far as the border. A small region of the northeastern corner is still free, but the rest of the Land of Water is lost.”

Ido stared down at his clean white sheets. He should have expected it. Deep down, he had known it would turn out that way, though this was no consolation. He thought of all those who'd died in the three days of battle, of Galla writhing in pain, of Mavern's sorrowful face. Then he thought of all the young faces, the boys from the Academy, the way they'd looked up to him on the first day of battle. Dead. Nearly all of them dead. He tried to shake himself back to reality.

“And now?” he asked.

“Now we lick our wounds. Most likely, we'll send more troops to help defend the unconquered territory in the Land of Water, combining our men with some of the soldiers from Zalenia, but the prospects are grim. All we can do is resist and sit tight. Our only remaining hope is Nihal, but to be honest, I don't know if we'll be able to hold out that long.”

Ido felt low, exhausted, like an old man with years of pain weighing on his soul. He decided to change the subject. “Well, does anyone feel like telling me what kind of wound I'm dealing with?”

Nelgar sighed again. “Deinforo took one of your eyes,” he said, getting the words out as quickly as possible. “You were lucky the blade didn't slice your head clean off. For two days, you wavered between life and death. Soana kept you breathing by the skin of her teeth.”

Ido's memory came alive. The pain, then the whole world, red. “What do you mean ‘took one of my eyes'?”

“I mean when we found you, not much remained of your left eye. We had no choice but to remove it. Now you have only your right.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Ido couldn't speak or think. He reached up to feel his left eye and found no bulge beneath the bandages. It was gone.

Nelgar lowered his head. “I'm sorry.”

A few days passed. Soana sat by the dwarf's bedside until he could no longer bear to lie still. He felt weak, but he wasn't one for lingering in a sick tent. It was time to speed up the healing process, he decided, despite Soana's objections.

“Rushing things will only have a negative effect.”

“I'm feeling better, and there's no reason for me to lie in bed all day like an invalid.”

In the end, his hardheadedness won the day, and Ido left his bed.

He quickly discovered that where they were stationed was not a proper military encampment. Dama was a town like any other, converted into a temporary base. Men and provisions flowed in and out of the city center, but it was clear they were far from the battlefront. Even Nelgar had taken off. All that remained were the wounded, like himself. To Ido, it felt as if he were living in a leper colony. As he walked around, he saw men missing legs or arms, men with chest wounds and head wounds, all staring back at him with a look of sympathy.

At least I didn't lose an arm or a leg. An eye is much easier to deal with
, he told himself, evading their pitying gazes.

But in his heart, he knew he was only fooling himself. Seen with one eye, the world was completely different. The sun, the forest, the tents, the wounded soldiers, everything seemed artificial, and Ido refused to accept such a false reality. Grasping at the objects around him, they seemed to flee from his hands, always too near or too far.

This is nothing. It will pass. It's just a matter of getting into the habit.

The world, too, was smaller, as if the atmosphere had shrunk around him. Something was always happening just outside his field of vision, and he was constantly bumping into things. For as much as he tried to ignore it, his clumsiness irked him.

It took some time before he built up enough courage to look at himself in the mirror. Back in the tent, they'd been changing his bandages frequently, but Ido still hadn't had a chance to see his new face.

One evening he decided it was time.

Cautiously, trying not to aggravate the wound, he loosened his bandage. It felt as if the eye were still there, as if a nail had been wedged into his head. He'd heard about this from plenty of soldiers who'd lost a leg. Even after the amputation, they could still feel it moving and aching. He'd never thought that the same thing could happen with an eye. In some ways, he realized, you didn't know what you had until it was gone.

Once the bandages were removed, he pulled out the mirror Soana had lent him. A deep red scar ran across nearly half of his face. Along the outline of his eyelid lay a trail of black dots. Beneath his eyebrow, a clot of blood.

How was he supposed to accept this new face? How was he supposed to feel? The darkest of thoughts, thoughts he'd pushed to the margins of his consciousness, suddenly flooded his mind.

Nothing will be the same. You'll never be as good with a sword as you used to be. Your field of vision will be cut in half, and an enemy could strike at any time from your blind spot. You'll never be the warrior you once were.

Walking about town one day, Ido noticed a familiar face, a boy hobbling on crutches. Yes, he remembered him well. It was Caver, the student he'd called on to duel during the final round of selections. Ido's suspicions had been right—the boy had proven himself a worthy soldier on the first day of battle.

Ido called out to him as he walked over.

“Ido!” Caver exclaimed with a smile.

They found a quiet place to talk and for a few minutes they sat there in silence, as if they'd forgotten what to say.

“How were you wounded?” Ido began.

“It happened on the second day, sir, while you were tied up with Deinforo. The troops panicked in your absence and there was a moment of chaos—that's when the Fammin struck.” He gave a wary smile.

Ido thought back to that morning. He'd set his sights on Deinforo and forgotten the rest, as if he were the only one on the battlefield. It was something he'd have done with no qualms in the past, but now the thought of it disgusted him. He felt ashamed. “I let anger get the best of me,” he confessed, his head lowered.

“You were extraordinary!” the boy countered. “I'm only sorry I didn't get to see when you sliced his hand off. Everyone says it was incredible. You knocked out the enemy's strongest warrior. After his injury, we didn't see any more of him.”

Caver wanted to know everything about the duel and Ido appeased him, taking pleasure in the boy's admiring gaze. Even still, he felt tortured. His men had been slaughtered out there and he hadn't even been there to help. He'd abandoned them to carry out his own personal grudge. An unjustifiable action.

“So what will you do now?” Ido asked in the end.

Caver shrugged. “I'm not sure, but I don't think I'll go back to the front. What I saw out there was worse than anything I could have imagined. I don't know if I have it in me. I don't even know if there's a cause out there that could justify such horror. Besides, they told me my leg will never be the same. I guess what I'll do is go home, even though I know it won't be easy going back to that life after seeing so many of my friends die.”

Ido understood him well—in his forty years of combat, he'd parted with almost everyone and everything dear to him. All that he had left now was Nihal.

As the pale evening sun retreated below the horizon, the two said their good-byes. Ido returned to his tent, feeling like a tired war veteran. After his battle with Deinforo, something had changed. An old story come to end, perhaps. Or, perhaps, a new beginning.