Only time shall tell.
- The Untold Lore of Yuldor Soldarin and His Servants, by Inanis
Ash and Snow
Garin gathered with the rest of his companions in the aftermath of the battle.
He looked at each of them, confirming they were well by the light projecting from Aelyn's fingertips. The mage looked as irritable as ever, and Garin guessed he knew why. After the Ravagers had left, pursuing Tal's voice into the shrouded hills, the company and the Hardrog dwarves had turned to dousing the town's fires. But no sooner had they done so than the fires went out of their own accord — or so it seemed.
Then Garin saw Kaleras swaying amid the standing stones, arms falling to his sides.
He'd hurried over to the warlock and steadied him. Somehow, Kaleras seemed his responsibility now. As Garin assisted him to bed, all the while ignoring his weak protests, he wondered what other sorcery his teacher had conjured that night. Extinguishing a few fires couldn't have much taxed a warlock who could take on a devil like Heyl.
He suspected they had much more they did not know of to thank the aged man for.
Kaleras taken care of, Garin had returned to Vathda's commons, where his companions were knotted together. Around them, dwarves milled about on the business of cleaning up the town. Though some continued to search through the ashes for bodies, valuables, and survivors, most were gathering before the razed great hall. There, a graybeard had climbed atop a box and shouted to the others. Garin speculated that they sought to determine who would rule Vathda now that Lord Dathal had gone to the mud, though he could not understand the dwarven language to confirm it.
All of his party were present except for Kaleras. Falcon looked miserable, no doubt infected by guilt at hiding away with a child, or perhaps at the misery and devastation surrounding them. Rolan, for his part, was bright-eyed as he stared at the ashen ruins, as if he'd never seen anything so thrilling in his life. It was an expression he imagined Wren might have had when she was his age. The thought made him smile, if briefly. Their discussion, and the Song still faintly echoing in his head, soon curtailed any amusement.
"So," Aelyn began, his scathing tone somewhat diminished by the raspiness of his voice, "do we act as rashly as our quarry and go boldly into the night?"
"No."
Garin turned, surprised that it was Ashelia who spoke so quickly, when he himself felt conflicted about their delay thus far.
"No," she repeated, her voice as strained as her House-brother's. "If that was Tal, as we suspect, then he intended to draw away the Ravagers. He was saving Vathda. If we go out there now, and the Ravagers return, we will have made his sacrifice negligent."
"Or the bastards could ambush us," Helnor added in a croak.
Ashelia nodded. "It would be foolish to go right now. So we will not."
Garin met Wren's eyes. He wondered if she shared his thought: that Ashelia sounded as if she were trying to convince herself of the point most of all.
"I'm certain that was Tal," Falcon said, a bemused smile twisting his lips. "It's exactly the sort of Silence-cursed heroism he might indulge in. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was trying to add to his legend. A spectral voice in the night, coming in time to save the town of a people he'd once wronged… What will he think of next?"
"He didn't exactly come in time," Wren pointed out. "Vathda still burned."
Ashelia held up a hand, forestalling further debate. "Regardless, we cannot pursue now; the morning will have to be soon enough. Tonight, we must rest and keep watch. Falcon, Wren, Garin — get some rest. Rolan, go with Wren." She touched her son's head at this, and the boy pressed against her side, heedless of the soot and blood smeared over her clothes.
"Will you come, too, Momua?" the boy asked his mother, craning his neck back to look at her.
She shook her head as Wren demanded, "Yes — what are you, Helnor, and Aelyn planning to do?"
"We'll keep watch," Helnor supplied. He was as gore-splattered as the rest of them, his exhaustion plain in his face, yet his voice remained bright. "Elves are hardier than humans. We can go a night without sleep."
"And I must place wards that might give keener warning than a Warder's eyes," Aelyn said, his lips curling as he regarded his House-brother.
Helnor only smiled and shook his head.
"Surely, Ashelia, I can keep watch as well. I may lack a hand, but I have two eyes." Despite the weak attempt at humor, Falcon spoke with uncharacteristic reticence; surveying for enemies was no doubt far out of his comfort. Yet Garin admired him all the more for offering. He himself couldn't imagine staying awake for such a post, nor being of much use with the Song still winding through him.
Ashelia regarded the bard for a long moment, then nodded. "Of course you can. Remain behind; we'll decide where your post will be after consulting with the dwarves."
"Then I should watch as well," Wren spoke up.
"No," Ashelia responded at once. "At least some of us must be rested for tomorrow."
Wren looked as if she'd protest, but her father reached out and touched her arm.
"Daughter," Falcon beseeched her softly. "Please."
Her eyes shone a bit brighter, but she gave a disgusted snort, turned on her heel, and stalked away. Ashelia watched her go, then turned her gaze to Garin, not seeming the least fazed by Wren's behavior.
"Garin, would you take Rolan back to his room? We'll wake you when it is time to leave in the morning."
Still feeling guilty, but not wanting to make a scene like Wren, Garin nodded and motioned to the boy. "Come on, lad. Let's get out of their way."
"Alright," Rolan consented, releasing his mother's hand with obvious reluctance to walk with Garin to their rooms. Garin spared one last look back at his companions and tried not to feel like one of the children being dismissed by the adults.
I'm a man, he told himself half-heartedly. No matter how they treat me.
Somehow, the Song coursing through his mind and spirit reassured him of that more than anything else.
They had to trudge through the wreckage to make their way to their rooms, their boots churning the melted snow and ashes to mud. Garin couldn't have become grimier, however, and his attention was far keener on the darkness pooling between the standing stones that the dwarves failed to illuminate with their torches. Not liking what the darkness might hide, Garin raised a hand and murmured, "Fashk." A yellow orb floated above his fingertips and lifted the night as well as his fear, though it provoked the Song to chorus a little louder.
"Will they come back?" Rolan asked as their doors came into sight. "The Ravagers?"
"I don't know." Maybe he should have lied to the boy, but Garin thought he deserved the truth. It was the least he had earned for trekking through the East.
They reached the room Rolan shared with Wren and Ashelia, but he hesitated outside it. Then, without warning, the boy wrapped his arms around Garin's middle and hugged him tight. Garin returned it tentatively, trying to hide his wince as Rolan's embrace found his bruises.
Without another word, the elf boy pulled away and flashed him a small smile, then slipped inside the room. Garin heard a surly greeting from Wren before the door closed.
But his smile soon faded. Though the enemies and fires had gone, the Song remained. The sensation of it curling through him was not unpleasant exactly; to the contrary, it now had a harmonious and enticing lull. But thrumming from it was a power that made Garin feel uncertain. He feared to sleep while the Song still played.
At that moment, Ilvuan, largely absent during the battle, reemerged.
You did well, Listener, he said, an approving hum underlying the Song. Very well. Perhaps you are not deaf to the World after all.
I'd rather be deaf now, Garin thought in return. How can I make the Song go away?
The Singer did not seem pleased by that response. The Song never ceases. If you do not wish to hear it, you must stop listening.
How? Garin didn't bother hiding his frustration. Devil
or no, Ilvuan was in his mind and felt the shape of his every thought, at least when he cared to pay attention to them.
The same way you close me out, Ilvuan hummed with surprising patience. Seal yourself to it. Push it away.
Garin tried to rein in his own temper and closed his eyes. As he focused on it, the Song seemed to close all around him, filling the World with its celestial ambience. It was a syren's call, he knew well — but it didn't mean he wanted to stop listening.
Yet if you wish to keep your nestmates safe, you must, Ilvuan said at his hesitation.
He tried doing as the Singer suggested, pushing at the Song like he had resisted Ilvuan on several previous occasions. But it was like pushing at the wind; there was some resistance to his efforts, but nothing behind it as he pressed harder. The Song continued, swelling and ebbing like a river with the rains.
He doubted he would receive any more assistance from the Singer. Besides, part of him wanted to accomplish this himself. Garin began trying other methods. He concentrated on listening to sounds outside of him and ignoring the Song. But after several minutes of this, he had succeeded in nothing more than wasting time. A similar exercise with the other senses proved similarly fruitless.
Garin clenched his teeth, trying not to let his vexation get the best of him. He was running out of ideas and had made no progress. But he had one last thought, if little notion as to how to implement it. Instead of opening himself to his other senses, he tried insulating himself from them, diving fully into the space in his mind that both the Song and Ilvuan occupied. He felt the Singer's observation more strongly now, though it seemed disinterested, like a napping dog lazily watching its owner with one eye closed. Ignoring him, Garin tried to gather himself into one place rather than filling his mind as he was used to. The Song seemed to pale, some of the beauty fading as his attention pulled away. Heartened, Garin pressed further, firming the edges of himself into walls. He imagined himself a strongbox, the lid sealing shut, the key turning. He moved away from the Song and pried the last of his presence from it.
Finally, silence. Silence be praised.
Garin remained in that place for a long moment. Then, with a startle, he realized he had no sense of time there. Unsealing himself, he emerged slowly back into his mind, straining to detect any hint of the Song. But for a mercy, it had ceased.
Ilvuan remained behind. As Garin's presence touched his, he radiated approval. You are not a hopeless human after all.
Garin made clear his amusement at that, but voiced no further thoughts. For, as he came awake to his senses again, he realized someone was speaking to him.
"Garin!"
He opened his eyes and swayed. He was still standing, but as he once again saw, his balance suddenly failed.
Hands caught and steadied him. "Yuldor take you, Garin, keep straight! You'll dash your skull on the stone!"
His vision resolved to show Wren was the one holding him upright. Her expression was caught between annoyance and concern, the gold in her eyes spinning fast. Ash was smeared down the side of her nose. Her springy, black hair was matted with sweat and, he assumed, blood.
Yet he wished he could hold her close and not fear she would pull away.
His hands curled around to grip her arms, though his legs had steadied as his senses oriented. "You're alright?" he asked, his voice coming out strained and faint. "You're not hurt?"
Her brow crinkled. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm more concerned about you. You would have fallen if I hadn't caught you."
"I'm fine."
They stood there for a long moment, eyes meeting, then flitting away again. Neither let go.
"Garin…"
He turned his eyes toward her again and nearly did bash his head against the stone as she pulled him into a rough kiss.
It only lasted a moment before Wren stepped away again, her gaze averted. Her voice was low as she spoke toward the churned ground.
"You were brave out there tonight — braver than I thought you could be." She shook her head. "That didn't come out right. What I mean is, maybe I was wrong back in Elendol. And I'm sorry. I just—"
"Wren," he cut in, his voice soft but firm. "You don't have to—"
"No, I do." Her eyes rose to meet his. "We could have died tonight, Garin. We could die everyday we're out here in this wilderness. And I don't want to have regrets. Do you?"
His throat felt as if a hand gripped it hard. "No," he croaked.
She nodded sharply, then looked away again. "Good. Then we won't."
Wren looked as if she'd walk away. Instead, she reached out and squeezed Garin's hand tight enough to hurt. Then, eyes downcast, she strode quickly toward her room.
Garin watched her go before turning into his own door, heart fluttering in his chest.
Helnor woke him at dawn.
Garin emerged from his room, puffy-eyed and exhausted. He tried to pull himself upright. After the events of the night before and his experiences with the Song, he was as drained as he'd ever been. But the Prime Warder hadn't slept a wink, nor had Falcon, who stood swaying at Helnor's shoulder, his eyes half-lidded. He couldn't complain of weariness before them. The bard gave him a small smile, and Garin only just mustered the will to return it.
The sight of the village had not improved with the light, nor had the stench. Smoke and ash choked Garin's tortured lungs as the morning winds stirred the detritus into the air. The charred buildings had collapsed in on themselves, and even the great hall appeared little more than a pile of refuse. As he watched, dwarves moved through the black mound, appearing to search for something.
"Were people trapped in the great hall," he asked Helnor, "when it was torched?"
The Prime grimaced. "Unfortunately. No survivors found. Plenty of bones, though. That reminds me — Ashelia has something for you. She wanted to give it to you before we set out."
Wondering what it could be, Garin nodded and turned to see Wren and Rolan emerging from their room. Though shadows encircled her eyes, Wren's golden tendrils were bright and alive. Her gaze flitted to meet his for a moment. He wondered if she was thinking of their kiss, as he was. He'd held the memory of it close as he drifted off to sleep, and it was the first thing he thought of when he awoke. Amid all the horrors he'd witnessed and committed, it had been his sole shining light. Hope blossomed in him that what they had shared in the past might be shared again.
He gave her a small smile, and as she returned it, the cold of the day did not seem so biting.
His attention was brought around as Helnor, frowning down at his nephew, said, "And what do you think you're doing?"
Rolan crossed his arms and glared defiantly up at his uncle. "Going with everyone else."
Wren, with a last lingering glance at Garin, turned and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "He's been holed up in that room all night, Helnor. Surely he can come with us. It won't be any more dangerous than the rest of this journey."
The Prime's scowl was quickly replaced by a rueful smile. "You have your mother's spirit. I'd forgotten how stubborn she was when we were young. As long as you get her permission, I won't stop you, Little Tree Frog."
Rolan brightened. "Thank you, Uncle Helnor!"
"Don't thank me yet." The large elf turned, waving the others after him.
Garin fell into step next to Wren, and she spared him another fleeting smile. But he recognized that look and didn't push for conversation. When Wren had set her mind to something, tender feelings were the last thing that should be discussed.
As they walked into the devastated town proper, Ashelia emerged into view from behind the sooty shambles. Upon seeing them, she approached, looking nearly as dirty as the surrounding ruins. In her hands, she carried a sword, the steel and hilt also covered in soot. It wasn't her rapier; that hung at her hip, and the blade was the wrong shape besides. He wondered what she had it for and how long she'd been searching the debris for survivors. The thought made him imagine all those people burning.
Just like the Ravagers yo
u burned?
With an effort, he pushed away the painful memory as Ashelia reached them. After a smile at her son, she turned to Garin.
"Garin. I'd like a word." Her voice was roughened from the smoke she'd inhaled.
"Sure." Stepping aside from the others, Garin glanced at Wren over his shoulder to find her staring back at him. He turned away, wondering what Ashelia meant to say to him — or give to him, as Helnor had implied.
When they were out of earshot, Ashelia faced him. "We should be on our way as soon as we can, so I'll keep this short." She held up the sword she carried, offering it hilt first to him while holding it by the cross-guard.
Garin gingerly took it. He guessed the sword had been caught in the flames, for not only was it filmed in grime, but its grip was naked of leather, though the wooden hilt beneath somehow remained intact. Yet as he took the cold metal in hand and examined the blade, something seemed familiar about the sword. He wiped his thumb over the flat of the metal, and his breath caught as azure runes shone from beneath the soot.
"Is this—?"
"Velori," she confirmed before he could finish. "Queen Geminia's gift to Tal."
Garin turned the sword over, as if something on the other side might deny the truth before him. "So he was here. He was in Vathda. And that really was him speaking last night."
"So I suspect. Along with his sword, I found the Binding Ring he carried."
He looked up to meet Ashelia's eyes. After the sleepless night, they were bloodshot and swollen, but the silver swirled in them like a thundercloud stirring into a storm.
He didn't want to ask what he knew he must.
"Why wouldn't he have Velori, Ashelia?"
She shook her head. "The man who might have told us is dead. Lord Dathal was found at the mouth of a cave that leads to one of the town's subterranean farms. Three other dwarves died with him, though they seem to have killed a dozen Ravagers before they fell. Someone had burned half the bodies, perhaps to hide their identities."
An Emperor's Gamble (Legend of Tal: Book 3) Page 14