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

by J. D. L. Rosell

  Still, he could not sleep with the Song still playing. Diving inside his mind as he had in Vathda, he hemmed in the Song, then smothered it. The stifling took no more than a few moments, and soon he was rising back to awareness of his body. Garin opened his eyes and smiled into the darkness.

  Even with an unknown wilderness surrounding them, with enemies roaming the mountains and the snows slowing and leeching their strength, Garin was starting to feel at home in his own skin.

  You are progressing well, little Listener.

  Garin startled at Ilvuan's sudden presence, emerging from the back of his mind like a viper from an unseen den. He tried not to act as surprised as he felt.

  I expected you earlier.

  Derision and amusement filtered like smoke through Garin's thoughts. You begin to understand the Song. You do not need my assistance. And if you are to accomplish my purpose, you must be able to stand on your own.

  A dozen questions, long unanswered, rose to the forefront of Garin's mind. He chose the one he thought most likely to gain a response.

  In a book Tal once had, you're called a Singer. Does that mean you're behind the Song that I hear?

  A deep silence greeted his question. Garin knew he should wait, but he had less control over his thoughts than his mouth, and more questions leaked through.

  Are you a dragon? Are all Singers dragons? If dragons exist, why are you never seen? And what would you need me for? Dragons are supposed to be—

  Enough!

  With that one resonant word, Garin remembered who and what he was dealing with. Ilvuan had attempted to take possession of his body on several occasions, and had often succeeded. He had seen him rend apart a fire devil's arm. He was a dragon, Silence help him, a dragon that had taken a great interest in him. Though Ilvuan had seemingly become friendlier, he could never forget that he had begun as a devil. What could Garin ever mean to him?

  To his surprise, though, Ilvuan's thoughts came softer, almost remorseful, in the wake of the silence. It is not fitting that mortals know of such things. But even you have a right to question.

  Stunned, Garin mulled over that. Just as he wondered if it was an invitation to ask his queries again, however, the Singer melted from his mind, disappearing back into the darkness from which he'd emerged.

  Garin leaned a moment longer against his boulder, wondering if he could have possibly interpreted the interaction correctly. Then a great weariness washed over him. With the prospect of dawn's arrival pressing on him, he levered himself up and made his way back toward the camp.

  The great mysteries of the World could wait for a good night's sleep.

  To the Vale of Mists

  Tal and Pim left the gryphons' nest later the next day.

  That morning passed in a fugue of frustrated agony, though it was nothing compared to the one that had come before. Still, Tal was far from comfortable. His joints ached; his muscles seized; the nubs of his missing fingers burned. His dam, padded before he relented to unconsciousness, had apparently eroded to allow sorcery to seep back in. He felt so queasy he could barely sit up, much less stand.

  The one bright note in the gloomy situation was that the magic had somewhat warmed him through. And what a pale silver lining that is. He rubbed at his finger nubs. In spite of his better judgment, he imagined there was more of the missing fingers beneath his gloves than before, as if some measure of them had regrown. Phantom limbs, nothing more. Snorting in disdain, he left off his kneading and let his hands return to numbness.

  Pim, who had already left the shelter they both squeezed into each night, eventually peeked back in. "We may wish to leave before our hosts grow suspicious. My delightful concoction, I'm afraid, is nearly spent."

  "Coming," Tal managed through gritted teeth. He'd never felt more vulnerable as he dragged himself upright and fought down a gag. Not only were they being guarded by a gryphon and her young, but he had an Extinguished for a healer.

  I always knew the East was strange, he mused, but this is a step too far.

  As he hauled his carcass of a body out into the bright winter morn, the cold eased his fevered skin and cut through some of the fog filling his mind. Pim fetched him some food, stale hardtack and tough meat, left cold so as not to attract the gryphons' attention. He ate and felt his body and spirits revitalize. He suspected the slow leakage of sorcery overnight had been the culprit for his deteriorated condition.

  And to think I used to yearn for my blood to burn.

  "When do we leave?" Tal asked around a mouthful of the poor fare.

  His companion cast him a droll smile. "As soon as you're able."

  "I'll be ready after a bite."

  "If you say so, Man of a Thousand Names."

  Tal accepted the gibe in silence. He had a feeling he'd be swallowing his words and smiles a lot over the next several days, and he didn't much relish the prospect.

  Though the night's pains clung to his bones, Tal levered himself upright and was ready to leave as Pim packed up the last of camp. Another time, he might have mocked him for acting as his servant. But times had changed. He no longer held the cards he once had, and a Soulstealer was too potent an enemy — and ally — to risk with a misplaced word.

  Soon enough, Pim was shouldering his pack and leading the way along the ridge. Tal spared one last glance back at the gryphons to see the mother circling overhead once more. He hoped it hadn't changed its mind about them when he saw a second shadow flit across the rare blue sky to briefly intertwine with her. He wondered if it was an enemy before he saw the rippling mane that indicated it was a second gryphon. The father of the nest had returned.

  "Best hurry now," Pim said pleasantly. "Full-grown drakes aren't renowned for being as welcoming as mothers."

  Despite the warning, neither gryphon pursued as they labored across the ridgeline. Tal mused they were too taken with their reunion. Gryphons, he recalled from his long-ago lessons, mated for life. Though they temporarily parted when their young grew old enough to care for themselves, it making little sense to share hunting grounds in this desolate landscape, they would return to their nest to mate when it came time. It was a reminder that beasts were beasts, even among the Nightkin, and only acted in accordance with their natures.

  He stared at his guide before him and wondered how long it would be before he relapsed into his natural inclinations.

  Few clouds dotted the sky, and with the sun out in full, the snow was near blinding. Tal squinted to see his way forward as he took one sinking footstep after another, the snow rising halfway up his calves and nearly over his boots. His feet had already numbed for the day and likely wouldn't thaw until camp that night, if even then. He yearned for warmth. His focus drifted repeatedly to the dam on the sorcery that, if lifted, might warm him. Only memories of the morning's pain kept him from indulgence.

  The afternoon's miserable march ended hours later when Pim turned their trail down a slope. It seemed to continue all the way to the valley below, where Tal could just pick out the road they'd left behind. He wondered if the Ravagers scouted it even now. On such a clear day, he could see far beyond the valley. Mostly, layers upon layers of mountains dominated the landscape. But to the northwest, beyond a line of lower peaks, spread a forest that seemed to abruptly end against a shining coast. The sea. Their destination, the forest of the Nightelves, was still miles away; but as it was in sight, it suddenly seemed within reach. He found his mood lifting and some measure of purpose restored. If Pim told true, he would find an end to his nightmare there. The Nightelves would heal him of his canker.

  Tal frowned. When he thought explicitly over the notion, the logic of his hope began to unravel.

  "How is it that the Nightelves can help me?" he asked Pim. "How would they know of cankers?"

  Even as they spoke, they made their careful way down the slope, often sliding as the sun melted the snow. At several points, the Extinguished used his sorcery to move the stones beneath the snow, forming a barrier to prevent them from slipping
all the way off the mountainside.

  "Men and women with your condition are not uncommon in the East," Pim spoke over his shoulder. "There are many who manifest magic, though they be of the Dun Races, or possess it to an unnatural degree — Aqada the Conqueror, for example, and the beloved herbalist Sage Hester. And there are those, too, who come upon sorcery through what they call a 'song' — a medley of disparate noises that somehow favors them with occult abilities."

  A shiver ran through Tal. Garin. The description matched the youth too closely to be coincidence. Though he had not the vocabulary, Pim was referring to Hellexa Yoreseer's Founts, both of Song and Blood.

  And if he knew that much of Founts, and was bringing Tal to the Nightelves, there could be only one conclusion.

  "You believe me to be like these afflicted people?" Tal barely hid the tremor from his voice.

  The Extinguished twisted around to flash him a grin. "Of course! You have within you the power to slay sorcerers and demons alike. Even if elven blood ran through your veins, of which I see no trace, or one of the shrouded spirits used you as a conduit, you should never have such capacity."

  Tal smiled back, though his was devoid of humor. "But surely you've heard of Kaleras the Impervious? It's said he slew a darkness that killed a hundred dwarves down in the Deep. And he's contended with your fellow Soulstealers and the Eastern dominion his entire life and never been conquered."

  Pim gave a shrug, exaggerated by the movement of his heavy pack, and turned his head back to their path. "True — there are those of unusual talent. Though I recall that warlock had a magic ring to help him, no?"

  "You'd have to ask him."

  The exchange reminded him of the moment when he'd given back the Ring of Thalkuun to Kaleras. He winced, glad Pim wasn't watching. He doubted he could have completely hidden the memory of that singular wound.

  "Nevertheless, Skaldurak, there is no doubt when it comes to you. You are one of these fabled few, and the Nightelves are the greatest experts when it comes to treating them."

  Fabled few — Tal wondered if those could be serendipitous words, or if Pim were aware of the 'fable' Hellexa Yoreseer had written.

  Best to ignore it until I can't, he decided. Silence knows it's my usual practice.

  "So they've seen cankers such as mine before," Tal spoke aloud.

  "That, I cannot say. I assume they must have. I have only witnessed a few fools daring and desperate enough to draw so much sorcery they accursed themselves so, and none in relation to your condition. But the principles, I assume, are the same."

  "You know precious little to be hauling me across the continent."

  The Extinguished leered back at him briefly. "Nightelf pellars are your best chance of survival. Were I you, I would grasp at the few straws splayed out before me."

  Unable to argue with that, Tal lapsed into a brooding silence.

  The rest of the day proceeded with the same painstaking descent. Eventually, the slope leveled out so Tal didn't have to contort his neck to keep track of where he stepped. But it took the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening to make it down from their temporary refuge and into the valley again.

  "What did you intend for camp?" Tal asked of his guide as trees once again rose around them. "I don't suppose we'll find another gryphon nest down here."

  "Nor would we want to! After all, my mixture is all but depleted. No, we will have to risk more traditional methods of warding off intruders and hope your pursuers are not nearby."

  "Traditional methods. You mean spell wards?"

  "I do indeed. Fickle things, and apt to have too many gaps in their defenses to be entirely reliable. But they must do in a pinch."

  Tal privately agreed with the Soulstealer's assessment. He'd rarely bothered with spell wards in his travels. A blend of traditionally cast spells and inscribed runes, the spellworker had to expel energy at the time of the casting, then maintain that energy throughout the duration of the ward. Any lapse in focus would dispel it and its effects. The cost, in Tal's estimation, was rarely worth it, and where necessary, he preferred to lay glyph traps in trees and stones to the use of wards.

  But Pim continued with his plan, finding a clearing wide enough in the forest to set up his shelter, then proceeding to ward the surrounding grove with a variety of incantations. The concentration needed to maintain such wards made Tal's head ache with just the thought of it. Even with his sorcery unbridled, Tal wasn't sure such a task would be as effortless for him as Pim made it appear.

  They forwent their fire that night, wary of watchful eyes in the valley, and immediately went into the shelter after a sparse dinner. In the tent, Tal lay there, glumly amused by the fact that these nights were the closest he'd lain to another in a long time. Strange as it felt, his thoughts wandered to Ashelia, and his chest ached. They had come so close to picking up where they had left off before he'd fled. He hoped she would one day understand. He hoped he'd be able to explain his reasoning to her himself.

  Though the way things were headed, it didn't seem likely he'd survive that long.

  "You know," Tal said to Pim in the darkness, "I feel as if I should thank you for all you've done. But I'm still not sure what price I'll have to pay for your aid."

  The Extinguished only responded with a low chuckle. Tal wondered if he still wore his illusion even in the darkness, or if he had lapsed to become his strange, crystalline self.

  Far from reassured, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

  They set out early the next morning and trekked through the trees. According to Pim, they maintained a course parallel to the road, but sufficiently far from it that they would not be casually glimpsed. The walking was trickier, with snowdrifts occasionally piling up under the trees and branches, and bramble often rising to impede their path. Yet Tal preferred these barriers to anything the Ravagers might employ.

  The day passed uneventfully. Though Tal tried to provoke his guide into answering more about his intentions, his questions led to no further conclusions. With days still ahead of them, he let it lie for the night as they crawled back into their cramped shelter, resolving to wear down his obstinacy.

  Though he couldn't help but wonder what a centuries-long life could do to strengthen one's will.

  The next day passed in much the same way, just as did the day after that. They rarely came upon beasts, and none of malevolent intent or unnatural origins. Caribou were the most common sight, and Tal longed for his bow when he saw them. He felt starved for any food that was fresh, meat most of all. His stomach pressed flat and empty against his ribs.

  As for the monsters' absence, he wondered if that was Pim's doing. The only method he knew of turning away creatures was through a traveling ward. Yet he felt no tingling of sorcery from the Extinguished, nor did he see him cast any when they set off on their daily slogs. He could only presume that he carried some sort of artifact that warded for him. If that were the case, he resolved to steal it as soon as his need for the Extinguished was gone. He had no more desire to run into gryphons or ijiraqs — or anything else the East had to offer, for that matter — if he didn't have to.

  On the sixth day, they woke to fog reaching its clammy fingers over their camp. At the sight of it, Pim gave Tal a wide grin, the charcoal tendrils in his eyes swirling like oil in dark waters.

  "We are close!" the Extinguished said, a boy's excitement creeping into his voice. "The Vale of Mists is within a day's walk."

  "The Vale of Mists?"

  Pim tilted his head in his peculiar way. "A rather self-explanatory name, I would think. It is the beginning of Fornkael, the ancient forest home to the Nightelves. This leg of our journey is nearly at an end."

  Tal didn't bother asking what his guide intended as their next stretch of the journey. He was just glad to be nearing their destination. Despite whatever may wait for me on the other side.

  They packed up camp, then Pim set off with his punishing pace, Tal doing his best to keep up. As they walked, the fog grew thick
around them, then thicker still. Two hours into the tramp, he could barely see Pim's silhouette in front of him. The trees loomed above and around like they walked the streets of a ghostly city.

  Fear had been a constant companion of Tal's since he'd left his humble chicken farm in Hunt's Hollow, and a familiar one from his former life. He'd learned to live with it, if not leash it to his will. Fears flitted through his mind, the foremost being that he would lose track of Pim in the mists and wander through this valley forever.

  He refused to let fear master him. After all, it could only hamper the cultivation of a legend.

  So though the fog clung cold to his damp cloak and skin, though his legs and lungs burned with the effort of keeping up with Pim and holding the sorcery down, Tal kept the fell sorcerer in sight.

  But even his resolve melted when the first syren called from the fog.

  A Warlock’s Regrets

  The days passed.

  The journey took on a familiar routine. The landscape inched by, but their company seemed to make little progress, for it seemed unchanged but for the weather. Mountains rose to either side of the long, wide valley they travelled through. Snow mounded beneath their feet and their stor's hooves, sometimes slushy from the sun, other times turned to precarious ice from a cold snap.

  "The East isn't much of an empire," Falcon commented at one point in their trek. "Its cities are nothing but stone and snow!"

  Everyone grinned at that. But with the knowledge that the capital city, Kavaugh, and more of the Empire lay ahead, the amusement did not last long.

  During both travel and sleep, Garin spent his hours next to Wren. Though such time together should have brought them closer, an unexplainable gulf had formed between them. Despite himself, his frustration was building, all the more from the reason behind the rift remaining murky and unknowable.

  His one form of solace occurred in the evenings when he delved into sorcery with Kaleras. After the warlock completed his routine wards of obscuring the firelight from far-off eyes as well as silencing any noise from their camp, Kaleras would find Garin and instruct him in all manners of arcane lore. With the famed warlock as his mentor, he expanded his knowledge within the four disciplines and deepened it beyond anything Aelyn had allowed him to delve into.