"He was here." She stared into the darkness pooling at the edges of Vathda. Her voice was small and dead of emotion. "He was here, so near..."
"If we fetch our stors, perhaps we can catch up." But even as Wren voiced the opinion, she didn't sound convinced.
"No." Already, Ashelia seemed to be recovering her composure and scanned the area around them. "We'll never track him in time. We have to protect our companions here. I have to stay for my son."
To Garin's ears, it sounded like a plea for understanding. He wished he knew what to say. But his thoughts kept coming back to the same conclusion.
"He's luring the Ravagers away, isn't he? He's trying to protect Vathda."
"He's a fool," Wren declared. "Come on, then — let's make sure the others survive."
Garin turned with Ashelia to follow Wren, but not without one last look back. A fool may attempt what a wise man never could — Tal's words, echoing from a different time and a different situation.
"A brave fool," Garin muttered to himself as he jogged back into the town.
Deception
It was long into the dark night before Folly collapsed.
Darkness fell in deeper folds as they left behind the fire-lit Vathda. Though the sky was cloudy, a hint of the moons' light snuck through, and the snow caught and held it. Yet that faint illumination was hardly reliable for a twilight ride. The stor held a canter for as long as it could, but its instincts for self-preservation inevitably undermined Tal's urgings to the contrary. Slowed to a walk, he resorted to looking over his shoulder, wondering how long he had before his pursuers caught up.
That he had pursuit was in little doubt. Before Vathda had disappeared behind the first rise, Tal had glanced back to ensure his lure had continued to work. By his estimation, it had succeeded far too well. Dozens of figures had run up the hill after him. Though the Ravagers seemed exhausted when fighting in the town streets, a glimpse of their quarry had filled them with a second wind. Their weariness seemed to slough off with every mile they followed.
He kept sight of them by the torches they held, and what he saw didn't reassure him. The gap had initially widened, but now it slowly contracted. Folly was tiring, the blind flight exhausting its resolve as well as body. The stor also had to break through the high snow on its own. Tal didn't dare summon light to see by, for not only would it give something for the Ravagers to follow, but his blighted sorcery would wreak further havoc upon him. As it was, he was still enduring the canker's cost from his earlier uses. His stomach turned with the pain prickling in his veins.
So he thought the long chase would continue. But the hunt suddenly shifted when Folly's fine footing gave way in the snow.
Tal grunted and flailed as the beast slipped from beneath him. They crashed into the snow, sliding down a short ways before coming to a halt. Though he had managed to prevent Folly from crushing his leg, something else jabbed painfully into his side. It felt as if a giant hand squeezed over his chest. He couldn't open his lungs. Just as panic set in, the hand loosened, and he drew in a shallow, ragged breath.
He wanted nothing more than to lie there in the snow and let his end find him. Only pride compelled him to stand again.
After all, he thought, what a poor ending to your legend that would be.
"Folly," he called softly to his stor. He could vaguely see it floundering in the darkness farther down the incline, trying to right itself. He wondered if the fall had lamed it. What hope would he have of escaping without a mount?
Even less than before.
He could hear the Ravagers' shouts when the wind died, their voices like phantom whispers as they traveled up the ascent. They could be no more than half a mile away and closing in with each passing moment.
Tal hadn't realized he'd made his decision until he'd already started scanning the ground around him, looking for the most defensible position.
"So it will end here," he muttered with a twist of his lips. "The legendary Tal Harrenfel, slain among the Eastern snows."
He spotted a rocky outcropping jutting from the mountainside, dark against the blanket of white. As Tal made for it, he thought of the people he would never again see, the wrongs he would never right.
I'm sorry, Ashelia. Sorry I came back; sorry I left.
Garin, I will always be in your debt— for your father, and my hand in his passing.
Falcon — I'm afraid I won't give you the ending you imagined for your life's labor.
Aelyn, Kaleras… I'm only sorry we didn't share more of our mutual antipathy.
A smile curved lips long numb. Tears sprang to his eyes, and not solely from the wind. Climbing the outcropping, he wondered which would take him first: the Ravagers and their weapons, or the canker's curse. He hoped neither would kill him quickly.
He meant to make the bastards pay a dear price.
Tal reached the top of the rock and slowly stood upright. The wind was harsher away from the slope. It whipped the hair free from his ponytail and into his face as he stared back the way he'd come. The torches looked near, far too near. He began plotting which spells he would kill them with.
Fire to burn and melt. Ice to turn the ground against them. Wind to throw them from the cliffs. Earth to break stone over their heads.
Breathing in, he accepted the inevitable, and let his dam crumble away.
The undiluted magic always burned when it entered him. But now, as the deluge poured through him, it felt like liquid fire in his veins. Tal couldn't hold in a pained scream, could barely keep his balance, as the sorcery curled and curdled within him. He noticed he was crouched atop the outcropping now, barely clinging on with clumsy, four-fingered hands, the nubs on them burning more than ever before.
But his eyes had opened to the World's truest manifestation. The arteries of sorcery lay exposed, webbing throughout the animate and inanimate alike. He felt the rivulets that branched off toward the magic-gifted Ravagers and compared it to his own, wide river. He smiled.
I will drown them, he promised. Every last one of them.
His body would perish — and soon, if his agony was any indication. But he would have strength enough for his task. None would stand in his way.
Yet even with all his focus directed toward the oncoming hunters, he could not fail to miss the wide stream of sorcery funneling into the person farther up the cliff.
Tal turned toward the unexpected, night-cloaked individual. Summoning a spell to mind, his vision distorted and lengthened, blurring what was near and bringing that which was far into clear focus. Another few mumbled words, and the darkness lifted to reveal the face. He spoke the man's name in perplexity.
"Pim?"
With his enhanced vision, he saw the elf smile, as if he'd heard Tal's incredulous mutter. His ephemeral companion was moving down the cliffside, navigating what should have been impossible terrain with what seemed relative ease. Tal watched the artery of sorcery pump into him, a spring constantly welling up, and wondered why the elf never ceased channeling it.
Then he narrowed his eyes further. Glamour shimmered about Pim's skin: he wore the magic, was adorned with it like a noblewoman with her wealth. It only took moments more of close inspection before he realized what that must mean.
The revelation hit with all the force of an avalanche.
"Silence take me," Tal breathed, wondering how he had missed seeing it all this time.
All the while, Pim wore a smile, though it changed with each moment. On him, a smile was as varied an expression as the whole range of another man's emotions. Tal tracked them as the elf approached him: amusement, resignation, worry. As Pim neared, Tal dismissed his enchantments and blinked away the spells. The elf nimbly ascended the outcropping to halt before Tal. Much as he wished to stand and face his deceptive companion on his feet, even sorcery was not enough to overcome the killing pain in his body.
"Bran," the elf greeted him, as if they had happened upon each other while passing in a market.
"You're one of them. Ex
tinguished." He meant it as an accusation, but as he spoke through clenched teeth, the words lapsed and fell flat.
Pim barked a joyless laugh. "Yes. I am."
"Why?"
"A rather broad question. Why did I become a disciple of Yuldor's? Why am I here? Or perhaps why have I not moved against you?"
Tal shook his head, though he wanted the answers to all those questions. But he asked more clearly what he meant, the crucial inquiry that would sway all the others. "Why did you save me from the river?"
The smile slipped away from the elf's face. Pim looked back toward Vathda. Tal followed his gaze. The Ravagers were close now, the glow of their torches appearing over the top of the rise two hundred feet away. His end was at hand.
But before it came, he needed to know the truth. He needed to know just how foolhardy he had been in his blundering charge into the East.
Pim looked back down at him. Now that Tal knew the truth, he realized he should have seen it before. The elf's appearance only seemed vaguely touched by their surroundings: a slight blush of the cheeks, perhaps, and a reddening of the nose. But he bore no scalding from the biting winds, nor was his hair tangled into knots. For a traveler, he was impossibly unmarred.
"I saved you from the river," the false man said, "in service of a far-fetched scheme. And again, when I saw Ravagers pursued, I protected you the only way I could: by making your enemies fight to keep you. A desperate gamble on a desperate man — most appropriate, would you not say?"
Tal curled his hands into the snow, bunching them into fists despite the jaw-grinding agony of it. The snow melted into steam as a bit of sorcery leaked free from him.
"Tell me another riddle," he said, "and it'll be your last."
Pim sighed. "There is no time for a proper explanation. So I will offer a proposal instead. If you refrain from rending me apart, I will preserve you from your pursuers. A fair trade, is it not?"
"And why should I trust your word?"
The disguised elf laughed in a short burst. "If you wish to survive, you do not have much choice."
Tal wondered what Pim could do to save him that he himself could not. But he was right about one thing: Tal didn't have a plan in which he survived. Even now, he expected it would be too late.
He thought he'd been ready to die, to make one final stand and be done with it. But once more, though his toes edged over the abyss, and his legs were bunched, ready to leap, he found himself backing away.
His smile spoiled he stared up at this unexpected, uncertain ally. "Do it."
Pim nodded, then grimaced. "Do prepare yourself. I am afraid I will not look my finest in a moment."
As the Ravagers ascended the hill and came streaming toward them, Pim raised his hands. At once, the sorcery fell away from his body like bark stripped from a tree, leaving the form underneath bare to the naked eye. Tal stared at him with a caustic mix of emotions, then turned his gaze aside, unable to bear looking directly at the decision he'd made. Instead, he followed the weaving of magic at the sorcerer's hands.
He quickly understood the avenue he'd overlooked for his salvation and silently cursed his myopia. So convinced was he that his inundation of sorcery would kill him, he had not even thought to use it but for martial intent. But Pim showed him another way of escaping the hunters, one that would have been obvious to one such as him.
Deception.
The illusion set into place even as he watched. The tracks that led up to the rocky outcropping were smoothed, as was Pim's descent down the cliff. Instead, imprints appeared in the snow leading to a nearby ledge, off of which came a deadly drop. Pim made the drift look as if a body had slid past the fallen stor, off the edge of the cliff, to tumble down into the valley below. It was as good of an illusion as Tal could have hoped for, and one that might even pass the inspection of potent trackers like the Ravagers.
The headhunters arrived moments after Pim finished, the veil of sorcery falling over both of them. Tal flinched as the torchlight hit their rock, though a glance at Pim showed him what the sorcerer had done. They were invisible, or as close as could be managed. The Ravagers even looked up toward them, but they gave no indication of seeing them.
Instead, they crowded around the trail in the snow, snarling at each other as they considered the tracks. They killed Folly as they walked by the stor; probably a mercy, but one done so savagely Tal could hardly consider it such. He mouthed a silent apology to the loyal beast.
The tense minutes passed. As the sorcery boiled inside him, Tal pulled himself into a tighter ball, as if by constraining his body he might contain it. His hands throbbed, the phantom fingers feeling as if talons were digging into the nubs. It was all he could do not to give voice to his agony.
Finally, after peering over the cliff and searching the area for his body, one of the Ravagers, a minotaur massive even for their kind, gave vent to his fury by chopping at the stor's body with an axe. When he had pounded the poor animal to a pulpy pile and covered himself in blood, he straightened and snarled at the others. Here was the leader, Tal assumed, the chief of the horde. Sure enough, at the minotaur's orders, the others leaped to obey, turning around to find a way down the cliff to recover Tal's body, or so he surmised from the common Darktongue he knew.
Only when they had long departed did Tal unfurl himself and let out a whimper. For once, he was glad Falcon wasn't there. He could only imagine what the bard would make of the unbecoming behavior and how it might be spun into his stories.
Raising his head, he looked at Pim again. With his sorcery and focus maintaining the illusion of the scene below, the Soulstealer left his own features unguarded. His skin shimmered like quartz caught in torchlight, and appeared as hard and faceted as crystal. His intricate, blonde braids had disappeared, leaving behind little more than a scabby skull. His clothes, at least, had been real, but they seemed to hang drably on his skeletal frame. And his eyes, always laced with black, were now as dark as mine shafts.
Each of Yuldor's most loyal servants looked different. But Tal knew an Extinguished when he saw one.
"Well, Soulstealer," Tal grunted, "you have a lot of explaining to do."
Pim smiled, or tried to. The expression was ghastly in his true form.
"Perhaps explanations had best wait until we are certain we have thrown off any pursuit. And that your own demise has been averted."
A great deal of Tal wanted to strike down the Extinguished where he stood. He thought he could manage it. Even hampered as he was, he felt his power swollen beyond what the fell warlock could hope to achieve.
Only three things held him back from it. First, Pim could have killed him when he'd lain prone after the ijiraq. That he hadn't proved he had other designs for him, plans that Tal could encounter later.
Just as vital, Tal needed Pim if he was to survive. He'd fled Vathda with no supplies — no food, no water, no map. He hadn't even recovered Velori or the Binding Ring, though he was certain both had survived the town's destruction; it would take more than a simple fire to damage sorcerous artifacts such as them.
And last, too much mystery surrounded the Extinguished that Tal had yet to unravel. Something was brewing in the East, something of which Tal had only the faintest inkling. And Pim might be the only one who could instruct Tal in this greater game.
Amid the silence, Pim released the illusion over the landscape and wove one back over himself. Tal watched as skin knitted itself over his face to reveal a sad smile and veiled eyes. The blonde hair hung limp, failing to stir in the wind as much as it should have.
"Release the magic, Skaldurak," the fell warlock murmured. "Keep hold of it, and it will surely kill you. With me, you at least stand a chance of survival."
"I could kill you first."
"But you won't. You might be Death's Hand to the dwarves, but I know you will stay your hand when you can."
That unexpected empathy was almost too much for him. Tal bared his teeth, the sorcery rippling through him, preparing to pour out in wreath
s of hungry fire. But with a restrained yell of fury, he struck his hands down onto the stone.
He gave back the sorcery to the World.
The rock vibrated. For a moment, he thought he had sent it into the cliff itself and doomed both him and Pim to a deadly fall. But after a moment, the magic settled, melding with the World and returning to the countless streams suffusing the land. As it departed, Tal put up the dam once more.
Without sorcery, he could barely hold to consciousness. Tal's vision dimmed. His eyes closed. Yet he could not rest, not now.
Not with one of the Extinguished looking down upon him.
Somehow, Tal pried open his eyes to meet Pim's dark-swirling gaze.
"Let's go," he croaked, then staggered to his feet.
Dimly, he noticed his companion smile. "A moment first to set the scene, Skaldurak. Then we can be on our way."
Passage II
Long have I been amused by the title "Extinguished."
Its implication is clear: that, through our service to Yuldor, we have become less than mortal and lost that ephemeral spirit, even as our lives protract into centuries. For some of us, this loss is undoubtedly true. Soltor, for one, has been reborn so many times hardly anything remains of the man with whom I once laughed, languished, and loved.
But I suspect the horror with which we are beheld also has something to do with our appearance. Undisguised, I admit, we are nothing pleasant to look upon. Resurrection and immortality have taken their toll. Where once I possessed a face that turned the heads of women and men alike, now they recoil in horror.
Fortunately, among my kind, a face can always be replaced.
Yet there is more than a kernel of truth in the accusation "Extinguished." Something of mortals did vanish in us long ago. Mercy is an ideal suitable for brief lives, one which preserves them.
But what value does life have to those who cannot die?
I will admit, even upon writing those words, a part of me still cringes. So, perhaps, my corporeal sensibilities are not so fully absent as the World would have you believe.
An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3) Page 13