Zachary Jernigan - No Return

It amused Pol to think he had once been intimidated by the quarterstock. Shav turned his hand. The knife disappeared into his sleeve. He thrust his hand forward, and the knife appeared in it. He grunted in surprise at the blood welling up from his calloused thumb. “Why is the blade so sharp? You can practice with a dull knife, can’t you?”

“No.” Pol took the weapon from him. He hefted it and then flicked it underhanded into the target. “I will not chance it. The weight of the practice knives needs to be exactly the same as the killing blade itself.” He pulled the knife free and repeated the throw. He moved back a pace and hit the target handle first, but got it the next time, and the next.

Shav watched, brows raised. “You’ve thrown knives of this design before?” Pol shrugged. “No.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t get used to this, then. Handling the knife, yes, but maybe not the throwing. No doubt, it will fly differently in the void.” Shav sat at the table and tore a piece of rouce bread, dipped it in green olive relish.

He gestured for Pol to do likewise. “Maybe you should practice in orbit.” They sat in silence and ate. Shav’s intelligence never ceased to arouse Pol’s interest. Curious as to his strange companion’s education, he had made subtle enquiries at the academy but discovered little. Of course, Shav claimed to have done many things. He had been all over Knoori, claimed to have fought in a dozen wars, many of which were happening simultaneously. He had sailed the ocean and planted his feet on foreign soil. For many years he had kept his identity hidden, staining his skin with a semi-permanent black ink. Pol dismissed much of the history out of hand. The quarterstock was mad, a charming and startlingly keen liar. At times he had seemed almost prescient, but now Pol suspected he was merely a skilled observer. A man could appear to do miracles if he watched others closely enough.

“That is my intention, yes,” Pol finally answered. “Unfortunately, I believe I am being observed constantly now. This morning, I breakfasted with Ebn.

All scheduled solo ascensions—and thus all independent projects of study in the void—have been placed on hold. She wants the mages to maintain a constant presence above Jeroun from now on. Comprised of eighteen half-day shifts, the watch will operate as an early warning system of sorts, possibly even the first line of defense against Adrash. A ridiculous concept, of course, but Ebn is insistent.

“I have been assigned the twice-weekly task of ascending to orbit and relieving the first and fifth shifts. As you may have guessed, I will not be alone in this task.

Loas, the most senior mage next to Ebn now that Qon is gone, will accompany me. He is highly skilled in the lore and unquestionably loyal to Ebn. I must find a way of silencing him so that my target practice is not revealed.”

“Won’t it be revealed the moment you take on another partner?”

“No. Ebn’s resources are stretched too thin. It will be weeks before she can find a replacement for Loas. For a time, at least, I will be left to my own devices. Even if I am wrong, it should not be too difficult to arrange yet another accident in the void. Many of the voidsuits were damaged when Adrash attacked.”

Shav shook his head. “This is far too complicated. Why not simply replace this Loas with someone you can convince to keep your secret? Someone you can buy?”

Pol had already considered this and rejected it. “Beyond the fact that Ebn would find my request for a replacement highly suspicious, I would not attempt to bribe another mage. Only someone in a weak position would accept such an offer, and sooner or later he would realize how much more there is to gain by turning me in. No, I must convince Loas to help me lift the helmets and targets into the void. I will tell him it is a last minute request from Ebn. And then, once we have reached orbit, I will kill him.”

“Your plan hinges on one act of deception? What if he doesn’t believe you?

He will not ascend with you, but go immediately to Ebn.”

Pol ground his teeth together. “I have no other options, Shav. I have so few resources at my disposal, no friends conveniently placed in positions of...” He paused, struck dumb as the answer suddenly revealed itself. He had finally found a use for the quarterstock.

“But perhaps I have been looking in the wrong places,” he said. “It occurs to me that you may be of some assistance.”

Shav chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You want to use my dragon as a pack animal.”

“Yes,” Pol said, impressed once more with the quarterstock’s acumen. “I want it to carry the helmets and targets so that Loas’s curiosity is not aroused and my hands are free to attack. I can manage the weight of the helmets and targets from that point on.”

“Sapes and I can only travel so high, which means you must strike your enemy well before reaching orbit. Gravity won’t be on your side, so you’ll have to act very fast. Are you sure it wouldn’t be wiser to kill him at your convenience and allow me to transport your materials later?”

“I am sure. Time is of the essence.”

“His death must look like an accident, Pol.”

Pol closed his eyes, picturing the spell he would cast. His fingers twitched on the tabletop, and his tattooed skin puckered with gooseflesh. The sigils seemed to assert themselves more and more every day, whispering possibilities, temptations. “I can do it. Can I rely on you?”

Shav stood and stretched. An erection pressed against the fabric of his pants. He wrapped his fist around Pol’s bicep.

“Of course you can. You...”

His eyes rolled up into his head and he shuddered, fingers tightening on Pol’s arm. Pol waited, mildly amused by the display.

“The elderman,” Shav said once the seizures had ceased. His voice was deeper than Pol had ever heard. Almost painfully hoarse, it quavered as though the quarterstock were in agony. “The elderman’s name is Orrus. He is my father. He has won his first battle and will soon leave for his second.

He is frightened, as he should be. He knows a wiser man would hoist sails for the outer isles, leaving the world behind. Instead, he contemplates taking from the Lord of the world his most prized possession. He is a fool.” The quarterstock knelt. His right index fingertip traced the lines of the flight sigil tattooed on Pol’s shoulder. “Before he leaves, my father tells me to contemplate death. He tells me to feel my mortality in the creak of my bones and the soreness of my muscles. With every heartbeat, you are closer to death , he says. He forces me to smell the stench of his underarms—the smell of the body birthing and decaying life at the same moment. He tells me to know, intimately, every sign of weakness in my body, and then reject each in turn. “He breaks my arm with one blow, kicks me as I writhe on the ground.

Remember this lesson above all others, he says. The body heals. It responds to trauma, to pain—not with fear, but with purpose. So must you. You need not die , my son, but in order to continue living— ”

Shav stared into Pol’s eyes.

“— you must suffer .”

PART FOUR

VEDAS TEZUL

THE 1 stTO 3 rdOF THE MONTH OF ROYALTY, 12499 MD

THE CITY OF YNON to GRASS TRAIL,

THE REPUBLIC OF KNOS MIN

The Locborder Wall extended three hundred and fifty miles along the western shore of Lake Ten, from the foothills of the Aspa Mountains in Nos Ulom to the screwcrab warrens of Toma. Begun

in the twenty-third century and finally completed in the thirtieth, its length documented Knos Min’s former glory, before Nos Ulom and Toma applied pressure west and northwards on the larger nation’s borders, reducing its area by half.