Silas
General Talon Rast steered his huge white destrier, Abitha, through the gates of Elling City, drawing awed stares from commoners and soldiers alike. He didn't pay them any attention, his mind swimming in a mix of anger and despair.
He had ridden hard from the Elling countryside, from a tiny village named Heathers, where he had heard a story he still had trouble believing, but that contained enough of a ring of truth that it had brought him racing to the province's capital city.
Four years, he thought as he rode north, up the winding road to the palace above. Four years since she left me.
He stared straight ahead, letting Abitha lead the way. She knew it well, for they had been there many times before.
He considered the last four years of his life, and how his once iron-clad assurance of what was right and true had slipped away a little more with each passing sunrise, his guilt at the decision he made to order Aren's capture a weight that grew harder and harder to bear.
An image hung unbidden in his mind; an image of a ship, disappearing over the horizon on its way to the unknown lands. He was a man of war, and had been for as long as he could remember. The ship carried away the only peace he had ever found. Peace that he had destroyed for the love of loyalty and duty.
More and more he had been questioning his loyalty, and questioning his duty. He had seen too much death, too much ugliness, too much destruction. He had sought the village where Aren had lived, and died. He had gone to apologize.
The body had been burned. That was what the soldiers had reported. They had confronted him, he had run, and a Mediator was sent to retrieve him. To hear them tell it, he had killed two soldiers before he and the Mediator had killed one another. He was a powerful Cursed, they had said.
He couldn't be sure how much of it was a lie. Aren had been an intelligent boy, a scholar. He had made plans for the event of his death, as though he had known that it would come about sooner or later, one way or another. That had been the thing that had surprised him the most, when he had entered that three room inn in Heathers, four years after his son was killed.
He had told the innkeeper who he was, and asked for a meal and a room. Instead, the innkeeper had handed him a sealed letter.
"I told him he was crazy to think that you would ever show up here. Addleton's a good day's ride out, after all, and you being a General in his army. The boy insisted that you would show, even if it took you a hundred years. I've never seen anyone so sure of anything."
Talon patted the chest of his jerkin, where he had spread the ashes of the letter to his skin after he had read and then burned it. He had cried while he had done so, the guilt multiplying and coalescing with a new anger. If it was true, he had to have known, and he did nothing to stop it.
Then there was the thought of what it all meant, beyond his own family. Aren had claimed he had learned things that he had never wanted anyone to know, and that he had gone through great lengths to prevent anyone from knowing. So many lost, so many dead.
Iolis Elling. He still couldn't believe he had placed the youngest son of Harran Elling as Overlord of the province, over his older brother Colm. There had been no reason to it, he knew. Except for one. It was why he had come.
He pulled himself out of his thoughts, and followed Abitha's head. They had nearly reached the front gates of the palace, and already the guards there were busy having them opened before he was forced to wait.
They went to their knees as he went by, showing utmost respect for their General, their hero, who had defended his rule from a half-dozen random uprisings throughout his years. For many of those, he had bought into the celebrity and the accolades. He realized he might find himself wishing he had been on the other side.
He rode Abitha right past the ornately carved wooden doors, into the large marble foyer where the petitioners would wait every morning for the Magistrate to determine which cases the Overlord would hear. There were fifty or more merchants, landlords, nobles, and the like milling about inside, papers in hand, and they stared and muttered about the horse entering the palace, until they saw who was astride.
"General Rast," the Magistrate said, pushing his current conversation aside and approaching him. "Your visit is unexpected."
"I need to speak with the Overlord," he said. "It is quite urgent."
The Magistrate nodded. "His Excellency is currently hearing the-"
Talon put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Urgent."
A weak smile, a bob of the head, and the Magistrate exited out of the room to the right, where a curved staircase led up to the throne room.
Talon stood and waited, while a soldier came and took Abitha's reins, bringing her from the foyer. The petitioners kept a wide berth around him, and their conversations had died out while they waited for him to move on.
The Magistrate returned a few minutes later.
"He will meet you in his private chambers," he said.
Talon nodded, and headed for the smaller door on the north wall of the foyer. He knew it would take him back, beneath the throne room to a spiral staircase that rose behind the dais of the throne, up to the third floor of the palace. There was a study there, a large room with a desk, quill, and books of law, where the Overlord spent the majority of his time when not holding court.
Iolis was already waiting for him when he entered without knocking. He had his back to him, an open book in one hand that he traced with his other while he feigned reading.
"Is it true?"
That was all he said to the Overlord. Iolis turned around.
He is so young, Talon thought, and not for the first time. He looked barely more than eighteen, with short black hair, thin lips, and a forced smile.
He closed the book, and placed it onto the desk. "Is what true, General?" he asked.
"The Curse. Is it true?"
Iolis spread his hands in supplication. "General, I'm afraid I-"
Talon stepped towards him, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Don't play games. Tell me if it's true," he screamed.
Iolis backed up a few steps, his calm demeanor unbroken. "What if it is, Talon?" His eyes were challenging.
He could feel his anger rising. "My son."
"Your son was a dissident, Talon. A traitor, and a rebel. You refused to see past his blood to the truth."
"He was a scholar," Talon replied. "A man of books and learning. He didn't sew dissent, he sought the truth. Truth that was written long before he came into power. Truth that he has worked very hard to erase."
Iolis laughed softly. "Truth is dissent," he said. "Why do you seek that which is forbidden, unless your aim is to cause trouble with it? Why did a man who didn't have the Curse work so hard to discover its origins?"
"Why is he killing them?" Talon demanded. "Why did he let me kill my son, when he could have cured him?"
He slid his sword from it's scabbard, the bright, etched alloy reflecting in the light like a crystal.
"Why did you sicken him with it?"
"Are you mad?" Iolis shouted. "You've never been the same since your wife left you, but this is lunacy. You can't cure the Curse, and you certainly can't give it to someone. You either develop the Curse when you reach adulthood, or you don't. Some hide it better than others, and it takes more time to catch them, but that is the only way it happens."
"You're lying," Talon said.
"He's been worried about you, Talon. Now I know why. Your grief has made you delusional. Where have you been, anyway?"
Talon put his hand to his chest, remembering the letter. He had memorized every word. He spoke some of them to the Overlord.
"There are many things I have learned, father. Things that I was never meant to know. Things that no man was ever meant to know. You are reading this letter because they found out. It is because for as careful as I was, I was not careful enough."
Iolis' eyes widened, but he didn't speak. He walked calmly over to an armoire, placing the key into it and turning it while Talon spoke.
"The Curse. The Curse is not some punishment from Amman, some disfavor of a wrathful god. The Curse is a sickness, a disease. It is carried in the blood. It changes people. It gives them a power I don't understand, but it also makes them sterile, and it makes them sick. If he didn't take them, they would die in a few years."
Iolis opened the armoire, and pulled out a small wooden box. He came back and placed it on the desk.
"As a General, you know that the Mediators are Cursed. They have the power of the Cursed, and yet, they live. They live because he has a cure. He doesn't have to kill any of them. He can cure them, but he chooses not to. He can even let them be, to die on their own, but again he chooses not to."
Iolis unlatched the box, and reached inside, pulling out a simple ring of shining alloy, with a gold stone on the top. He slid it onto his finger.
"Why is he killing innocent people he could save? Why does he save those who show the most proficiency with the power? You've put down rebellions, father. You know the answers to those questions. He says they take the Cursed to protect everyone else. The only one he protects is himself."
Talon walked towards the Overlord, tears forming at the base of his eyes. "If you're reading this, I'm dead, and have been for some time. I don't know if you will ever find this, but I write this with a prayer to Amman that you will. The Overlord sent an assassin to kill me. Not with a dagger, but with a much darker poison. He gave me the Curse. He probably had you give the order to have me taken, so that you would never question my death, or wane in your loyalty to him."
He brought the sword up, ready to strike. Iolis stood calmly, looking up at him.
"Mother will never forgive you, and though it may take time, I believe you will never wane in your loyalty to her. They've miscalculated you. I forgive you. I love you. Aren."
Talon looked at Iolis with eyes filled with tears and anger and hate.
"I used to believe that he was a good man. That he was hated for the things he was forced to do for the good of us all. He took my son. He took my wife. I'm going to kill him, but first, I'm going to kill you."
His arm started to move, to come down on Iolis and sever his head from his body. Then the Overlord whispered something, the ring on his hand began to glow, and every muscle in Talon's body froze.
"No," Iolis said. "You aren't."
Talon's face twisted from the effort he was putting into finishing his stroke and ending the Overlord's life. Muscle didn't matter now. If he had known Iolis was Cursed, he would have been more cautious.
Iolis reached up and unbent his fingers, one by one, until the sword clattered to the ground. "As I've said, he was worried about you. He was afraid you might become... confused. I wanted to kill you. I've wanted to kill you since we found out that your son had taken some things he shouldn't have. It was his idea to make his death your idea."
The ring on Iolis' hand continued to glow, and blood started leaking from the Overlord's eye. Talon looked at him, his heart filled with hate and rage, his body unable to move. All of these years, all of the people he had killed in his name. For what? Nothing but lies.
"He refuses to let me do it," Iolis said. "For as cruel as you probably think he is at this moment, the truth is that he is soft. His loyalty to you remains, even as you turn your back on him."
The Overlord returned to the box, and lifted out a brown stone. He stared at it a moment before bringing it over.
"You're fortunate that we have other ways of making sure you don't cause any more trouble. I'd say more, but you aren't going to remember anyway."
The brown stone began to glow.
Talon's eyes shifted to watch it.
Iolis put it to his forehead.