An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3)

by J. D. L. Rosell

  Ahead, Helnor had dismounted again and handed his stor's reins to his sister. He bent over, closely studying the snow beneath him. Garin dismounted as well, though his elven boots were ill-suited for remaining dry. Wren followed suit. They carefully approached, watching their feet to make sure they didn't step on any tracks.

  "He lost time here." Helnor's words were barely above a mutter as he stared at the ground. He shuffled further up the road, still bent and studying the disturbed snow. "Then he was sidetracked for a moment. By what, though…"

  Garin watched silently as Wren joined Helnor's investigation. She'd looked no more than a few moments before she pointed to the hill down to the river.

  "There. He slid down there."

  "Or fell. The pattern's uneven as if he rolled." The Prime Warder became more deadened of emotion with each subsequent observation.

  Wren turned and frowned at Ashelia. From Garin's angle, he couldn't see the healer's expression, but he could guess at it.

  "Fell?" Rolan piped up. "Why would he do that?"

  "He wouldn't," Wren said grimly. "Unless he was forced to."

  The elf boy turned to her with his eyebrows raised and another question on his lips.

  "He was attacked, Rolan," Ashelia murmured.

  "Attacked? By who?"

  "By whatever made these prints." Aelyn was standing closer to the hill on their right and staring at the ground. "Deer prints, by the look of it."

  "Tal can handle a rowdy buck," Falcon protested. "Silence, he vanquished Heyl, didn't he?"

  Helnor stood, his face set into deep lines as he stared down the hill. "It wasn't a deer. It was an ijiraq."

  "Was it?" Aelyn sneered. "And how would you know that?"

  The Prime pointed at the river below. "Because it's lying right there."

  With a start, Garin followed Helnor's direction. Something did lay fifty feet below them. It was half-buried in snow, but he could see enough to tell the creature was far from natural. It had the body of a caribou, but where its head should have been, there was the twisted torso of something resembling a human with antlers. Blood had darkened the ground around it. By all appearances, it was dead.

  Ashelia had stepped up next to Helnor. Garin was standing just close enough to hear her ask quietly, "And Tal?"

  The large elf shook his head. "I don't see tracks coming up again. But we'll have to search downriver to be sure."

  Garin still stared at the corpse of the beast Helnor had called an ijiraq. Was there more to it than its appearance? Did it possess a secret, deadly sorcery?

  But even if it did, how could it have killed Tal Harrenfel?

  It didn't. It can't have. He'd seen what Tal was capable of. There was no chance that the creature down there could have slain the Man of a Thousand Names. The man who was supposed to challenge a god.

  The man he'd come all this way to reconcile with.

  "Then we'd better start looking," Garin said heavily, and began walking back down the road.

  They searched for the better part of an hour before Wren's shout brought them scurrying over.

  "Down here! I found something!"

  All the weariness and hopelessness that had begun to assail Garin fell away. As he was upstream of her, he had to wade his way back up the slick embankment to where Rolan held his stor for him before he could move around to where Wren had been looking for tracks.

  Reaching the top, he hauled himself to his feet and took back the reins, ruffling the boy's hair. "Thanks, lad."

  Rolan dodged away from him and stuck out his tongue. Garin smiled, but it quickly slipped away.

  Tal might not be dead. Or he might be. Just because Wren had found tracks didn't mean there were any guarantees. Not for the first time, he wished Aelyn and Kaleras' seeking spells had worked. They had not attempted them during the initial chase, as Tal's path was readily apparent. But now, with his fate uncertain, their spells had failed. Aelyn explained through gritted teeth that it did not mean Tal was dead; in fact, it had seemed the opposite, like he blocked their attempts to find him with sorcery. Garin clung to that small hope, though it evoked the question of why Tal would so desperately want to avoid his friends that he would foil all their attempts to find him.

  He made his way to where the others had gathered. While Ashelia, Helnor, and Aelyn slid down to Wren, Kaleras remained at the top of the embankment and held their mounts. Elderly and still suffering from the poison Garin had inadvertently administered to him, crawling down precarious inclines was not an endeavor he would easily take on.

  Though he makes for an unlikely stable boy, he thought with another small smile.

  As the warlock already had his hands full, and he didn't want to risk attracting the attention of his frown, Garin handed back his stor's reins to Rolan and slid down the bank. For a thrilling moment, it looked as if he wouldn't be able to stop — then his feet found a rock. He jarred to a halt feet away from the edge of the frozen river.

  "Nice of you to join us," Wren observed wryly as he stood and brushed himself off.

  He only raised an eyebrow and stalked over, careful of where he stepped. "What did we find?"

  Helnor pointed down at the snow between them. "Someone or something came out of the river here. See how the ice cracked and has only thinly reformed? And here — the way this snow is shaped, it looks as if someone was dragged across it."

  Garin traced the trail up the slope and back to the road. "To where?" he muttered.

  "I have a suspicion. Come — I'll show you."

  They labored back up the hill to the main road. At the edge of it, their party fanned out as Helnor gestured at the churned snow.

  "See here? This is from a caravan that passed through not two days ago — about the same time as Tal, I'd wager."

  "You think whoever is in that caravan rescued him," Wren guessed.

  Helnor nodded. "Easterners are not known for their kindness, but perhaps it's also their custom to aid a traveler in need." He straightened and shrugged. "But it's only a guess. Perhaps Tal pulled himself from the river and went back west. With the snow as muddled as it is, it's impossible to track further."

  Garin scanned the area around them. All was cast in shades of white and gray, dark pine trees and the sluggish river the only interruptions in the landscape. He wished he could experience the nudge he had felt before, hear that brief welling of the Nightsong's chilling music. He was sure it was a sign of his former mentor.

  But only the howl of the wind filled his ears now.

  "He would not have turned back." Ashelia stared up the mountain pass. "If we have no better path, we'll follow the sleighs east and pray to the Mother we are not wrong."

  With that, the Peer turned and walked back toward their tied mounts. Garin lingered for a moment longer, staring into the whirling snow and the dark fog in the distance.

  He startled at a touch on his hand. Turning, he saw it was Wren, her eyes the brightest and most colorful thing to be seen for miles around.

  "We'll find him," she said with a certainty he envied. "If that bastard stops running from us."

  Garin only nodded and followed her back to the stors.

  Scars and Stories

  Tal opened his eyes, but the darkness stubbornly clung to them.

  Panic seized him at once. He sat up — or tried to. Pain ripped through a dozen places on his body and set his head spinning. Lights flashed in his sightless eyes. The World tilted beneath him, like a ship tossed on a moody sea. His blood ran hot through his veins. His skin felt clammy and feverish.

  He paused. Steady, man, he admonished himself. You're not a wool-headed recruit any longer. He listened to his rapid breathing until he finally compelled it to slow. He regained control of his body.

  Only then did he attempt to sort out his mind.

  He remembered the caribou-shifter bearing down on him. Remembered summoning lightning and striking at the beast.

  Remembered his sorcery crippling him.

  Why it had d
one so was a question for another time. More important were the memories that came after. The shifter had crashed into him. They'd tumbled into the river. Its horns had stabbed into his flesh, holding him fast like a bridge-builder's winch. As the deathly cold water swallowed them, he must have knocked his head, for he could recall nothing afterward.

  How am I alive?

  The ground was hard and uncomfortable. Tal felt around him and touched a thin blanket, then cold stone beyond its frayed edges. A faint scent of mildew lingered in his nose.

  A cave.

  Someone must have found him. Someone had saved him. And they couldn't be much better supplied than him, if his bedding was any indication.

  But, as the old saying goes, paupers take any coin.

  Tal raised his head slowly and opened his eyes wide. Now that he understood the reason for the darkness, he could see past it to detect a faint but distinct glow against the cave's walls. The light faintly flickered, telling of moving flames.

  A campfire. And next it no doubt sat his rescuer.

  Easing upright, he extracted himself from the blanket and felt about for his gear. To his relief, Velori lay in its scabbard nearby. He slowly pulled the belt around his waist and secured it. A knife hung from it as well, also preserved from the river.

  Tal crawled across the cave floor like a child too young to walk until he sensed the ceiling had fallen away, then tottered to his feet with a groan. His insides burned with the hunger of a wildfire. He kept a gloved hand tracing along the wall as he inched toward the cave's entrance.

  He almost lost his balance as a silhouette appeared before the opening. It was night, and the only light from outside was cast by the fire, so the figure's face was lost in shadow.

  "You are awake," the stranger said. "At long last."

  The voice was a man's, unfamiliar to Tal, and accented strangely. There were notes of an Eastern lilt, but also hints of the Westreach, and the influence of other origins he could not divine.

  Tal smiled, though his present state made him feel anything but pleasant. "I had quite the ordeal."

  "Ordeal." The man cocked his head to one side in the same manner as Tal had seen his hens do many times back on his farm. "That is one way to describe a life."

  Though his head still felt like a barrel of fish stuffed too full, the stranger's words struck him oddly. He had the distinct feeling they were having two different conversations.

  Tal cleared his throat. "I believe I owe you a healthy dollop of gratitude. You pulled me from the river, didn't you?"

  "Yes. Perhaps in more ways than one."

  "Well, for the literal way you saved me — thank you."

  The stranger laughed. "'Gratitude is as rare as desert water. We must drink at what oases we find.'"

  Tal frowned, the words stirring a vague memory. "That's from the Creed. Spoken by Serenity to her siblings."

  "You are either a devout man or a scholarly one."

  "I've never been accused of either before. But few in the Westreach can avoid the Creed's influence."

  "Ah," the man murmured. "To remember a time when it was not so."

  Tal's legs were starting to shake. "If we might continue our conversation around the fire," he said with another strained smile.

  The silhouette swept out of the way. "Of course. There are logs for sitting, and food for eating."

  Glad that the man had finally refrained from speaking in a riddle, Tal staggered out of the cave and past his rescuer to the fire. He tried to keep an eye on the man, but his weak limbs conspired against him, nearly spilling him onto the ground when he did not watch his feet.

  If he was going to kill me, he mused as he lowered himself onto one of the two stumps positioned next to the flames, he could have done it while I slept. With that strangely comforting thought, he lowered his guard — for the moment, at least.

  As the man sat opposite him, Tal raised his head and observed his rescuer. He was a comely man and had a youthful appearance, though the strangeness of his mannerisms and the way he spoke told of an older age than he looked. His ears, pointed as they poked free of his blonde, braided hair, and his eyes, a forest green laced with a swirling inky black, told the truth: he was an elf, and a Gladelysh elf at that, unless Tal's wits were more thoroughly addled than he knew.

  The elf did not appear to be prospering in his time in the East. His cloak was as much patches as original fabric. His gloves were threadbare, and a finger showed through on one hand. His boots, however, looked to be newly bought and barely broken in.

  "Well?" the man prompted him. He had a cutting smile, one as potent as Tal's own. "What do you make of your savior?"

  Tal returned the gesture as best he could. "Any man who pulls me from a river looks like a Silence-blessed nymph to me."

  The elf laughed, a boisterous sound that defied the darkness and evoked a wince from Tal. "I must imagine so, having never been pulled from a river myself!"

  "Does my rescuer have a name?"

  "Everyone has a name." The elf leaned forward, the corners of his mouth seeming to stay lifted of their own accord. "Some have many. You may call me Pim."

  It was a strange name for a Gladelysh elf, and nothing like the other names he had heard among their people. As he considered Pim's words, he thought it must be a pseudonym.

  But Tal only nodded. "Well met, Pim, and thank you once more. My name is Bran."

  He had not realized he would give that name until it rolled off his tongue. Strange, he thought, when a man's own given name feels false.

  "Bran." Pim rolled the name around his tongue like it was one of the honeyed candies off the streets of Halenhol. "Indeed, it is."

  Tal smiled while he decided which of his many questions to ask first. But he realized there was one natural place to begin.

  "How did you come to pull me from the river, anyway?"

  The elf leaned back on his stump and neatly folded his limbs so he sat cross-legged, an odd way for a grown man to sit before a stranger. "I was traveling through and saw a drowning man. So I pulled him out."

  Tal inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Are we near the river then?"

  "Fairly. Our cave is just up the rise from the Reach Road, though on the opposite side of the river."

  Tal scanned the clinging darkness around the bonfire and wondered if more of the creatures that had assaulted him were nearby. If any did attack, he doubted he could survive a second bout. For reasons he had yet to ascertain, his sorcery had harmed him as much as it had helped. He could only hope this Pim could hold his own against Nightkin. He was an elf at least, and so would possess his kind's inherent sorcery. And he had been the one to rescue Tal rather than the other way around.

  Pim seemed to read his concerns. "We are safe here — as much as there is safety in this craggy land. Ijiraqs are typically quite rare. You were extraordinarily unlucky to have chanced upon one."

  "Ijiraq." He said the unfamiliar word slowly. "I've never heard of or seen one before. Are they always hostile?"

  "Against solitary travelers? Often. They are carnivores, though they do not look it. And they are fantastically efficient hunters." The ink in Pim's eyes expanded, obscuring the green irises for a moment. "It takes a potent warrior to take one down."

  Tal grimaced. He could hardly consider himself a "potent warrior" after the performance he'd put up against the winter beast. But he only shrugged.

  "It's foolhardy to venture into the East and not know how to protect yourself."

  "Indeed. Some might say it is foolish to even come when prepared. So what has brought you here, Bran?"

  This question, at least, Tal had prepared for since crossing the border. "It seems a damnable idea now. But I'm a prospector."

  "A prospector!" Pim's perpetual smile widened, seemingly delighted by the idea. "And what do you prospect for?"

  "Gold was the notion. I've heard tellings of men making their fortune in these mountains. It's said some rivers shine yellow with all the gold they carr
y. Now, I don't put much stock in rumor — but in every tall tale, there's a seed of truth."

  "And in every legend, a lattice of lies holds it together."

  He tried not to startle at that. Almost, it seemed there was a knowing gleam to the elf's eyes. But if it had been there, it was gone the next moment.

  "Just so," Tal agreed easily. "I went to Elendol to wait out the winter, intending to make an early start in spring. But certain events threw my plans to the winds."

  "Events?"

  Tal eyed Pim from across the fire. From his blonde hair to the olive cast of his skin to the hint of Gladelysh accent remaining in his voice, he appeared to be from the elven homeland. He hoped he would not take the news too hard.

  "Elendol is at war with itself," he said softly. "The Houses fight one another for the empty throne."

  Pim's smile had finally melted. "Then Queen Geminia Elendola the Third is dead."

  Tal nodded and lowered his gaze to the campfire. In it, he saw the scene again, as he had countless times in the days since fleeing the elven queendom. Geminia, beaten and bloody, eyes wide, lips murmuring words he heard only in his mind. The Thorn throwing her through the broken railing to a death far below. Flames rising to claim the city as Heyl awakened once more.

  Tal had overcome his enemies in the end, if at great cost. But in his nightmares, it turned out differently. Heyl clutched him in its searing hands, pulling his limbs apart as he burned alive. The Thorn laughed as he commanded Tal to contort himself into positions that broke his bones. Once, he even had Tal kill Geminia, taking her apart limb by limb.

  He touched gingerly at the newly missing finger on his right hand as it prickled, its absence asserting itself once again. The pain had deadened for the moment, though both of his missing fingers had burned during the initial frantic flight. He wondered if he would ever grow used to their being gone.

  The memory a reminder, he felt inside his jerkin's pocket and touched a circle of warm crystal. He repressed a sigh of relief. Even after his tumble into the river, the Binding Ring had not been lost. Much as he resented its enchantment, he needed every tool he had at his disposal.