The Talon

The molten orb of glass expanded with each puff of air. Layla ignored the bitter taste of metal and rotated the long blowpipe in time with the rhythm of her breath. Her fingers slowed for a fraction of a second, and the sphere bulged on one side. Layla hastened to correct her mistake, but each desperate gust transformed the globe into an amorphous blob.

Layla grimaced and stilled the blowpipe. The blob sank, a shiny glass teardrop dripping from the pipe to mark yet another failure.

Muttering a string of curses, Layla plunged the pipe into the water barrel. Hot glass shattered as steam rose to heat her narrow face. Dahl glanced up from his latest creation, a delicate glass bowl shot through with swirls of red.

"You aren't a glassblower." Sunbeams hit his bowl and splintered into a multitude of red and white sparkles. "I say this each time."

"I want to be one." Layla dried the blowpipe with the hem of her work shirt and leaned it against the wall.

"If it were about want, you'd have shaped a bowl two years ago." The barrel-chested man stood. "You don't have the talent."

Layla slammed her foot into the water barrel; it tipped, water and glass shards splashing over the edge. Dahl caught the barrel before it crashed to the floor. His disappointed glance chastened her more thoroughly than a glare or a fist.

"I'm sorry." She had to tip her head back to look Dahl in the eye. He was one of the few people taller than Layla.

After a moment, Dahl took a deep breath and said, "We'll try again after your trip."

A smile lit Layla's plain face like sunlight lit the bowl. "I'll bring something back for you." Dahl never traveled, so Layla brought pieces of the world home to him. Realizing how late it had become, Layla said her goodbyes and hurried home.

Quickly, Layla exchanged her work clothes for sturdy traveling garments of leather and boiled wool. She covered her thick tunic with a leather jerkin, slung her sword belt around her hips, and covered the whole ensemble with a long, black cloak, taking the time to stash extra weapons everywhere from her boots to inside her tightly woven blonde braid. Satisfied, Layla saddled her black mare and made haste for the tavern where her client would already be waiting.

 

"You're the Talon?" Doubt colored the old man's tone as he peered at Layla from his seat on the bench just outside the tavern. The sun had set, but light trickling through the tavern's door illuminated his wrinkled face and few wisps of hair. A large nose with a prominent bump protruded from his face. She'd been told to call him Bailen.

"I am." Layla's thin lips twitched.

"But you're..."

Layla allowed him a glimpse of the sword beneath her cloak. The insignia etched into the leather sheath marked her as one of Hawke's Talons--a group of highly trained fighters who hired themselves out to those who could afford them.

"What I am is the best swordsman in Keldar," Layla said, "but if you don't want my services, journey alone. Or see if you can find a better man in there." From inside, they could hear the raucous laughter of drunken townsmen.

"Fifty silver," Bailen offered.

Layla sniffed. "My fee is one hundred gold. Non-negotiable."

His wizened hand grabbed her wrist with more strength than she thought him capable of. Her palm tingled, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

"You're a sorcerer." She wrenched her arm from his grip. Layla didn't mind sorcerers, as long as they kept their magic away from her.

"Yes." He pushed back his robe--the Mark of Sorcery writhed over the weathered skin of his forearm.

"Magic me again," Layla said, "and you're on your own."

His bark of laughter surprised her. "You'll do, Talon." He tossed her a small bag that clinked when she caught it. "You get the rest when we reach our destination, but we must leave now." He mounted a docile brown gelding.

Layla checked the contents of the bag--fifty gold. She nodded her agreement and mounted her mare. As they rode past Dahl's workshop, her gaze lingered on the door. Then she faced the horizon with a resolved expression. The sooner they left, the sooner she could return.

 

His route led them east on a circuitous path that bypassed any cities or villages. Despite her protests, Bailen kept the route and their final destination to himself. Layla couldn't fathom what Bailen carried that was worth such secrecy. If they rode north to the sorcery school or west to the lyceum, she would guess powerful spells or potions, but nothing of importance to the sorcerers lay in the east. In fact, nothing of much importance to anyone lay east of Keldar.

"I notice you don't sleep, Talon." Bailen broached the topic of conversation as she saddled the horses to begin their third day's ride.

"Very little," she agreed, pulling the final strap snug.

"I don't feel an anti-sleep charm, so how?"

"Years of practice." Layla left him with the horses and covered the remnants of their cook fire with dirt. "I can get by on two-hour naps for weeks. That and a little pasadar root in my tea. Talons have to watch their own backs."

A loud crash in the trees behind them swallowed Bailen's reply. He limped to his gelding and fumbled through the saddlebags. Layla grabbed her bow and readied an arrow. Branches swayed and snapped; the noise ricocheted around the clearing. Bailen stood with his back to the horses, something small clutched in his left hand. His mouth moved, but she heard no sound. Then, Bailen vanished.

Layla turned just as a massive bear burst into the clearing, trampling the underbrush. Foam dripped from its mouth, and its eyes glinted an unnatural red. On all fours, the bear stood as tall as Layla and weighed more than the two travelers and their mounts combined. Layla had no time to retreat--the beast reared up and swiped a huge paw at her head with enough force to dislodge it from her shoulders. She ducked and spun as she released the arrow. It lodged itself in the bear's heavy pelt.

The bear roared angrily and swatted the bow from her hands. Layla sidestepped the snarling muzzle and darted to the bear's other side, drawing her sword. The bear pawed at the arrow, breaking off the shaft, then snapped at her arm with a mouthful of jagged teeth. By the time its jaws closed, Layla had sprinted out of reach. The bear lowered its head and charged; at the last moment, Layla jumped clear.

Unable to slow down as quickly, the bear rushed past her, leaving itself vulnerable. She plunged her sword into the bear's side, burying it up to the hilt in fur. The bear bellowed with pain but charged her again, seemingly oblivious to its wounds.

Layla dropped and rolled out of the way. Two tree-trunk legs crashed by her head, distracting her from the back legs until one of them landed on her foot. Bones snapped and the weight of the paw ground them into smaller pieces; agony exploded through her leg. When she moved, Layla felt bone shards grate against each other. White light flashed behind her eyes, and she fought to hang onto consciousness.

With a menacing rumble, the bear lunged. Layla avoided snapping teeth and gouging claws by rolling beneath the bear's colossal bulk. She slipped a wickedly serrated knife from her wrist sheath and thrust it up over her head. Layla ripped the knife out and stabbed it through the bear's hide again and again. Blood rained down on her face, and bits of fur stuck in the warm goo.

The bear shuddered, whimpering with pain; then, as if powered by something outside itself, the bear whipped its mighty jaws toward her again. Blood matted its fur, and its eyes rolled wildly. Layla drove the thin blade from her braid into the bear's neck just before its teeth clamped down on her other hand. Layla screamed but used the fresh pain to shove her blade home with more force.

The bear faltered. Layla scrabbled for a handhold in the grass, trying to get herself out from under the beast, but with every move the pain in her broken foot left her gasping. The red light in the bear's eyes flickered and vanished. Like a marionette without strings, it collapsed.

Layla braced herself for its crushing weight, but an instant before the bear hit the ground, a huge, invisible hand yanked her out of the way with bruising force. Each thump against the ground sent fresh waves of pain through her body. When the enchantment released her on the other side of the clearing, Layla gratefully passed out.

 

When Layla awoke, she sprang to her feet, scanning the clearing for her charge. The hand reaching for her sword came away empty. Then she remembered where she'd left her sword, and realized several things in rapid succession. First, the screaming pain in her foot and hand had vanished. Second, aside from her breastband and breechcloth, she was naked. Third, Bailen was nowhere in sight, and neither were her weapons. And, finally, based on the low angle of the sun, she had been unconscious almost the entire day.

The bear's corpse remained where it had fallen, but her sword and knife no longer protruded from its side. A fire danced merrily beneath the cook pot. Her fear for her charge eased--surely an enemy would not have cared for her or cooked dinner. However, she'd sworn to ensure Bailen's safety. She didn't want to search the forest naked and unarmed, but she would.

Crackling underbrush announced another presence. Layla shifted into a fighting stance. Bailen walked into the clearing carrying her weapons. "Calm yourself, Talon."

Layla relaxed, noting that the sorcerer seemed to stand taller than before and his limp was less pronounced. "At first, I thought you teleported away with my fifty gold."

"It was merely an invisibility charm. I carry something that must be protected at all costs--even the life of my Talon. The sorcery on the beast was so strong that even I could not break it." He carefully laid her weapons next to a bundle of cloth she had not previously noticed. "I cleaned your clothes as well as your blades."

Layla took no offense at the sorcerer's dismissal of her life. Willingness to fight to the death allowed Talons to charge such high fees. To do less was dishonor for herself and her order.

Bailen settled himself by the fire and uncovered the pot. A warm, meaty aroma filled the clearing. "Bear stew?"

Layla's stomach rumbled as if she had skipped a week of meals--an aftereffect of magical healing. She pulled her tunic over her head and hopped toward the fire, one boot on, the other dangling from her toes. Her sword, however, already hung in its customary location. Bailen handed her a bowl of stew, and took one for himself. Layla devoured her portion before he'd taken three bites.

As she refilled her bowl, she said gruffly, "Thanks for getting me out from under that monster." Then she gestured to her foot. "And for the healing."

Bailen ignored her thanks. "Despite my best efforts, my enemies have found us. We can't wait until morning to leave." Layla nodded and scraped the last of her stew into her mouth.

With a wave of his hand, Bailen doused the fire and cleaned the dishes. Inwardly, Layla marveled. Working magic without a spell required large reserves of power and a disciplined mind. She whistled three short notes and one long, and the well-trained mare trotted to her side. Layla stowed her weapons in easy-to-reach locations, both on her person and on the mare. As she worked, Layla noticed that Bailen had seen to the horses, as well. Their coats gleamed, and they were ready for a long ride.

"There's one last thing I need to do," Layla said. While Bailen packed the cookware, Layla approached the bear's corpse. With her boot knife, she cut a claw from each of the bear's front feet--one for her, the other for Dahl--and stashed them in her pouch. Her mind flashed to his workshop, and, for a moment, the heat of fire and molten glass replaced the dampness of the forest. Her fingers itched to hold a blowpipe. Then the image faded, leaving her a Talon again.

As she straddled the mare, Layla asked, "How much farther?"

Bailen studied his companion for a moment, then said, "We ride for the Dashenel Mountains."

Layla nodded, taking the announcement of their destination as a mark of his trust. "That will take seven days, perhaps eight, on such a circuitous route."

"We've been found," Bailen said. "Now speed takes precedence."

She recalculated the distance. "Five days on a straight course."

"Five long days," Bailen agreed. And in that moment, he looked as old as Layla had ever seen him.

 

True to Bailen's word, the five days were long. They stopped as little as possible. Layla increased the amount of pasadar root in her tea and stood watch over the old man while he slept. Bailen's pursuers could control the creatures of the forest--anything might be an enemy.

On the fourth day, a red-eyed wolf charged them. If she hadn't been mounted, it would have bitten off her hand. Layla slowed the wolf down with an arrow through the chest, and they galloped away before it recovered enough to try again.

The rest of that day, Bailen seemed more pensive than usual. Finally, he broke the silence. "I've bought and paid for you, Talon. How much can I trust you?"

Bailen's words took Layla by surprise. She stopped scanning the path ahead and stared at the old man who sat tall in his saddle.

"You can trust me to use my skills to keep you safe, as we agreed, or die in the attempt," Layla said. "That is the Code of the Talons. Taking payment binds me to the Code with a blood oath."

"What if I need more?"

Layla narrowed her eyes. "What is more?"

"The item I carry must reach its destination or there will be hell to pay."

"From its new owner?"

"From hell itself."

Layla checked the knife in her wrist sheath. "I would prefer not to be more involved in the affairs of sorcerers than I am already."

A half smile curved Bailen's mouth. "By taking my payment, I'm afraid you're deeply involved, whether you like it or not."

"True." Layla decided that if learning his secret allowed her to better protect him, it was a risk worth taking. "You can trust me, sorcerer."

"I have been sent on this mission by the king. A rogue sorcerer by the name of Gredon Baltan desires war. He believes sorcerers should rule the kingdom and those without magic in their blood are untouched by our god, therefore, inferior."

Anger fired Layla's untouched blood.

"Baltan's plan involves the nine heirlooms of the First Sorcerers, repositories that amplify a sorcerer's power. He has four already and owns the sorcerers who can wield them in battle." Bailen pushed back his sleeve to reveal a wide, gold wrist cuff studded with sapphires. "This must reach Lord Alphonse, the Keeper of the Dashenel Pass."

"Why not lock it away in the treasury?" Layla asked. "Or find a sorcerer in the royal court to wield it against Baltan?"

"The heirlooms cleave to one user in a generation. Usually, they stay within families, but the family that held this one is gone--murdered down to the last child by Baltan's converts. Our agent barely managed to get out with it and his life."

"So this cuff will cleave to Alphonse?"

"Or one that he knows. The Seeing was not specific. Either way, it is the balance of power between Baltan and the king." Bailen urged his horse to a canter. "If our pursuers catch us, do not fight to the death. Pry this cuff off my wrist and take it to the Pass."

 

Of course, the journey's end couldn't be simple, Layla thought. She stood on a riverbank and watched the water roar by, contesting jagged rocks for possession of the deep trench. Mountains towered overhead. Across the river lay their destination--a stone wall with a gate and a single tower. But no bridge. There was, however, an untended ferry on the other side.

"Bloom's ferry is the only way across the river for miles." Bailen pointed to the gate. "Lord Alphonse knows of our journey. His men will let us in, and we'll be safe there from pursuit."

Layla eyed the wall dubiously. Despite the heavy stones, it seemed small and neither an archer nor a lookout stood guard in the tower.

"Don't worry. The defenses are more than they seem." Bailen spoke with assurance. "These mountains have a magic of their own. Alphonse's people can tap into it, but the price of using that magic is that they can't survive without it. The wall marks the end of their realm--if they cross beyond the gate, they will die."

"If we enter, must we stay, too?" Layla contemplated leaving Bailen to his own devices once she'd gotten him across the river. She glowered at his hearty laugh.

"Magic doesn't work like that, Talon." Bailen dismounted. "It took the normal people generations to become dependent on the natural magic. A visit will do us no harm. Only using the power would bind us there."

Bailen whispered a spell over a gold coin and dropped it in an old wooden box on a post near their dock. Across the river, the enchanted ferry creaked into motion.

A tingling sensation crept up her spine. "This will take too long. We're too exposed." Layla trusted her gut, and it told her something was wrong. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her sword rasped as she slid it from its sheath.

A loud boom cut off Bailen's reply, and then another--five in total. Everyone in the kingdom could recognize the sound of a teleportation spell.

Layla whirled, her dagger flying into her other hand. Four men strode toward them, all muscular and all armed. One was clad in the full body armor of a knight and clanked with each step. A gold chest plate emblazoned with a noble sigil adorned another, marking him as the personal knight of a noble house. The final two wore thick leather similar to Layla's own. Strapped to the back of the first was a large battle-axe, while the second held a long sword. Those two were mercenaries, or possibly foot soldiers. If they were mercenaries, Layla could tell from their movements that they were not Talons.

"It's been too long, Martin." The voice came from behind the four soldiers. Bailen stiffened. The men parted, allowing a woman to step forward. The wind whipped her long black hair around her petite form. At first glance, she appeared young, but the closer she came, the more age Layla read in her face--age not marked by wrinkles, but by experience.

"Or is it Bailen now?" The melodic sound of the woman's laughter raked down Layla's back like claws. Her men stopped, awaiting orders, but the woman continued forward.

"Maeryn," Bailen snarled.

"That's Lady Maeryn to you," the woman chided.

"You're no lady in this kingdom," Bailen growled.

"But I will be in the kingdom to come." Maeryn walked casually, as if she had not just teleported many leagues, stripped to her essence and carried on a combination of sorcery and will. Layla surveyed the soldiers--two still looked green around the edges from the transport spell. A point in her favor.

"Why don't you give me the cuff and be done with it?" Maeryn asked Bailen. "It would save your life and your Talon's."

"I will not betray the king." Bailen glared from under his hood.

Maeryn laughed again. "Why, Martin, where did you find such a hideous disguise?" Her hand shot forward and she murmured a spell. Bailen began a counter spell, but Maeryn finished first.

"Bailen?" Layla reached out to touch him, then hesitated.

"I'm fine." His voice had deepened from the dry and dusty tone she'd come to know. The hood fell away, and Layla's eyes widened in shock. Instead of the wrinkled, wizened man she'd followed for the better part of a fortnight, she saw a handsome man in his thirties with a full head of red hair and bright green eyes. The fierce frown, though--that Layla recognized.

"A glamour is merely a glamour, lover." Maeryn's voice deepened to a purr. "It can't hide you from me for long." Her eyelids drooped as she devoured him with her gaze.

"Long enough." Icicles dripped from his tone.

"Not quite." Maeryn arched an eyebrow.

Layla glanced at the river. The ferry had yet to reach the halfway point. They were trapped.

"So," Maeryn said conversationally, "you prefer to do this the hard way? I would have preferred something a bit more comfortable."

Bailen glanced at Layla and inclined his head in the slightest nod, just enough that she knew something was coming. She braced herself.

Aloud, Bailen said, "You've given yourself to Baltan body and soul. We can never be comfortable again."

Maeryn stepped closer and traced the line of Bailen's jaw with her finger. "It's not too late for you to join us. I pled your case with Lord Greydon. Give me the cuff, and I'll show you how deep his forgiveness runs."

"No." Bailen shoved her away, his scathing gaze making no secret of the fact that he considered Maeryn lower than slime. She staggered, and when she faced him again, rage marred her beauty.

An emerald green fog burst from Bailen's palms and sank into the dirt. The earth began to tremble, at first a slight vibration but increasing exponentially in strength. Bailen's horse whinnied and galloped into the forest. Layla's mare shifted uneasily but did not run. Maeryn screamed for her men to attack.

The green-faced mercenary with the long sword dropped to his knees, spewing vomit with every tremor. Layla kept her footing and ran him through with her sword before he could react. The mercenary collapsed into a puddle of vomit and blood.

"Get the Talon!" Maeryn cried. "Martin is mine."

The three other guards surrounded Layla, blocking her view of Bailen. The remaining mercenary swung his axe in a blow meant to split her skull. Layla ducked, but the shifting ground threw her off balance and she stumbled. Luckily, she wasn't the only one affected by the roiling earth. The knight in body armor fell backwards, hitting the ground with a loud crash. Layla turned her fall into a roll and managed to make it to her feet before the next swing of the axe. The knight strained, but the combination of heavy armor and the quake kept him on the ground. The gold-plated knight glared at his fallen comrade with disgust and tried to haul him up.

The axe whistled by Layla's head again, but she sidestepped the swing. The length of the axe handle kept her at a distance too great for her sword to bridge. She flung her dagger. The man knocked it out of the air with the flat of the axe.

"Is that a Talon's best?" The mercenary's guffaw ended with a gurgle when her second knife lodged itself firmly in his throat. The axe hit the ground seconds before the man.

Layla glanced toward Bailen. He and Maeryn circled each other warily, occasionally loosing a bolt of sizzling energy--hers dark brown and his emerald green. Behind them, the ferry had reached the halfway point, but waves jostling higher from the quake slowed its progress.

Jagged cracks ruptured the earth, rapidly widening into fissures. The trees in the forest swayed and one crashed to the ground, but on the other side of the river, the land lay still.

The clanking of armor drew her attention to the two remaining soldiers. As the ground continued to shift, Layla felt a little sick herself, but she quashed the feeling and focused her attention on the two men. Both had drawn their swords.

Layla jumped from one side of the fissure to the other, and the crevice continued to widen. Now Layla had the high ground. The gold-plated knight swore. With a running start, he leapt over the gap and landed on the Layla's side. The other knight hesitated a moment too long; another crack splintered from the fissure. He stumbled, and the weight of his armor pitched him head first into the crevice. Layla heard a sickening clatter as he hit the bottom.

As suddenly as it started, the earthquake stopped. Clashing swords replaced the rumbling of the earth as Layla and the last knight met in battle. They dipped, dodged, and struck; Layla realized he'd been well-schooled in swordsmanship.

"Surrender, girl," he ordered.

"Not on your life." Her sword bounced off his chest plate, nicking the sigil.

"On yours, then." The knight dashed forward with a series of swift blows.

Layla blocked each one and then threw another knife. It grazed his thigh, drawing blood. He grunted, but didn't falter in their complex dance.

With every thrust, his sword moved faster. Layla blocked and parried, but eventually he forced his way through her defenses. His blade rasped through her clothes and sliced into her shoulder; Layla gasped, but kept moving. While his eyes feasted on the blood welling from the wound, she slammed another of her hidden knives into his arm, piercing muscle and grazing bone.

The knight yelped and then swept his sword in an arc toward her head. Layla ducked and drove her sword upward with both hands. It slid into his stomach just below the gleaming chest plate, releasing a waterfall of black blood. The knight staggered; his hands went to the wound and came away covered in blood. As he fell, blood smeared over the sigil of his noble house.

Layla ripped a piece of cloth from the hem of her tunic and used it to staunch her shoulder wound. She wiped her bloody sword on the dead knight's back and then looked for Bailen.

While Layla fought the four soldiers, Maeryn had gotten the upper hand in the sorcerers' duel. A pulsing cocoon of brown energy held Bailen aloft. With each pulse, more blood bubbled from his ears and nose. Layla padded toward them silently. The element of surprise was her best weapon against a sorcerer.

"Where is it?" Maeryn's power throbbed more erratically.

"You'll never find it." Bailen's laugh turned into a cough.

Layla heard a tiny pop and felt the weight of cold metal in her trouser pocket. He'd teleported the cuff--the sound was proportional to the size of the object. She looked at the dock. The ferry was almost there; if she ran, she could make it. Bailen would want her to run.

The cocoon vanished, and Bailen dropped to the ground. He lay still, but when Layla squinted, she could make out the rise and fall of his chest. Maeryn was so intent on searching Bailen's pockets that she didn't notice Layla until her sword pricked Maeryn's back.

"Don't kill her." The wheezing groan came from Bailen. "Leverage against Baltan." Fresh blood ran over his lips, painting his chin a garish shade of red as he struggled against unconsciousness.

"Step away from him," Layla ordered.

Maeryn straightened, her movements graceful and fluid. "I didn't realize you were still with us." She sounded tranquil, as if they were chatting over tea. "I'm disappointed. I thought my boys would be more than a match for you. At least you saved me the trouble of paying their fees."

"Don't move or I'll run you through despite his order." Layla pressed the tip of her sword until it pricked Maeryn's skin through her black tunic.

"Conventional weapons are so dreary," Maeryn commented. Her voice trembled, and Layla noticed the sheen of sweat coating her skin. "But I suppose they have their uses."

Layla's last knife flew from her boot and into her back. Pain radiated through her body. Layla held her sword in a white-knuckled grip. She stumbled forward and it cut Maeryn more deeply. With a snarl of rage, Maeryn disappeared. Invisible claws tore at Layla's throat and scraped against her skin, leaving trails of pain though they left no physical marks. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and the sword dropped from slack fingers. Something tugged, and the knife fell to the ground as well, leaving her back slick and warm with blood. Only then did the claws retract.

Brown energy mixed with swirls of gray covered Layla's feet and oozed upward. Everywhere the magic touched, her pain vanished and instead Layla felt nothing, not even her own skin. Blackness fluttered against the edges of her vision. The energy rose to her knees, her hips, her waist, tugging on Layla, but not on her clothes or her hair. It dragged on her soul, sucking it from the inside out.

Fight!

The sound of Bailen's voice inside her head shocked Layla back into herself. She heard Maeryn's maniacal laughter from behind. Off to the side, Bailen still lay on the ground, but she could see the piercing green of his now-young eyes watching her.

That gray means she's almost out of reserves. She's putting her life force into the spell. Keep her casting. Though it started strong, by the time Bailen finished his mental voice had weakened to a bare thread.

The oozing gray-brown magic bubbled over her shoulders. Layla fought the only way she knew how, physically. She thrashed back and forth, pushing against the stuff that held her. With every movement, her pain flooded back, and Layla grabbed them and hung on, each ache binding her to her body and burning off the energy's nothingness.

The more Maeryn's power fought against Layla's body, the less it tugged at her spirit. Maeryn began to tremble and glared up at the taller woman. "Let go."

"Never," Layla hissed.

"You can't beat me." The energy pulsed around Layla, but with each throb, gray blotted out more brown. Layla met Maeryn's gaze and nearly stopped fighting in surprise. The deep brown of Maeryn's eyes had turned a watery gray. As the last of the brown vanished from the cocoon, Maeryn spasmed and fell backwards, dead before she hit the ground.

The layer of energy holding Layla dissipated. She half-ran, half-fell to Bailen's side. His skin was white and his lips were blue. He didn't say a word with his tongue or in her head.

She heard a thunk as the ferry locked into place at the dock. Layla whistled and grabbed Bailen under the shoulders. Despite his sudden youth, Layla was still taller and stronger. Her mare butted Layla's shoulder to announce her arrival. Layla slung Bailen over the mare's saddle sideways. Then, the trio lurched toward the ferry, the mare supporting all of Bailen's weight and some of Layla's, too. The mare snorted as she stepped onto the boat, but Layla murmured comforting words.

As the ferry began the return journey, Layla slumped to the bottom. Rocking waves lulled her to a near doze. The trip back across the river must have taken at least as long as the first crossing, but it felt like moments. Layla floated somewhere between consciousness and darkness, riding spasms of pain, until the ferry hit the other dock with a jerk. The mare sniffed Layla's face and whickered softly.

Layla tried to summon the strength to stand, but her legs rebelled against her weight. Then hands pulled her off the ferry; others carried Bailen. The mare walked behind, never far from her mistress. Layla leaned heavily on her companion, a swarthy man with a short beard. The gate in the wall stood open, and people waited anxiously on the other side.

The closer they got to the gate, the slower their progress became. The man grunted, and Layla glanced at him again. His complexion had paled until he was whiter than Maeryn. Even his brown hair had turned white. The man fell out from under her as they reached the wall. Layla reeled into the stones. The men carrying Bailen collapsed, as well. Bailen landed a hand's length from the gate. Layla stumbled to him. More hands reached through the gate to drag Layla and Bailen into the safety of Lord Alphonse's lands.

The world spun, and Layla collapsed. People swarmed over Bailen, and the goosebumps on the back of her neck told Layla they were healing him. Bailen would live. Layla leaned against the inside of the wall and finally relaxed. As her eyes fluttered shut, she thought of Dahl and his workshop, the flames, molten glass, spinning, blowing, spinning...

"Do you have it?"

Layla forced her eyes open and peered at the hazy form silhouetted against the sky. Then his features became clear. "Dahl," she whispered. "You came for me."

He turned to speak to someone else, but Layla didn't mind. She was happy just to see him. "Tell me," he barked. Layla frowned. Dahl never spoke harshly.

"She's lost a lot of blood and the knife punctured a kidney," a woman said. "It's fatal."

The words floated around her but made no sense. Layla gave up trying to understand and twitched her hand into her pocket. Her fingers clutched the bear claw. "I brought this for you, Dahl."

He took the claw and then demanded, "Do you have the cuff?"

Layla frowned. "Not yours." Her eyes fluttered shut, and she saw the most beautiful glass sculpture. Whorls and swirls of glass glimmered with multicolored lights. She extended her hand, sure that if she could only touch it, she would understand the secrets Dahl had tried so hard to teach her.

"The cuff, child!" He shook her. "I must have it."

Layla ignored him, reaching for the twinkling glass.

"It's in her pocket, Lord Alphonse."

She knew that voice. If Bailen wanted Dahl to have the cuff, then it was all right. She strained for the glass, but every time Layla thought it was in reach, it retreated.

"My lords?" the woman asked. "Shall I heal her?"

The glass shattered and tears spilled over her lashes. Someone touched her. Layla opened her eyes to find a weak but alive Bailen crouched over her. The healer stood next to him, and behind them both was an older man with a graying beard. He had the cuff on his wrist. Layla focused on Bailen.

"Do you wish to be healed, Talon? If you do, like me, you'll never be able to leave."

The older man, Alphonse, leaned forward. "There is room for a valiant warrior like you in my guard." In his hand, he held the claw.

"Where's Dahl?" Layla craned her neck, but her mentor had vanished.

"Your friend wasn't really here." Bailen shook his head sadly. "If they don't heal you, you'll die."

Every breath seared her lungs. She gazed at Alphonse, but it was hard to focus. "Do you have glassblowers here?"

If the question surprised him, Alphonse did not let it show. "Of course. Many fine specimens."

Layla closed her eyes and smiled. ◊

---

Erin M. Kinch lives and writes in Fort Worth, Texas. Her short fiction has appeared in "Sporty Spec: Games of the Fantastic," "Every Day Fiction," and "A Thousand Faces." When not writing, Erin spends time with her husband and her eight-year-old golden retriever.